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S/IRAH  MEAL  HARRIS. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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littp://www.arcliive.org/details/elocutionvoiceexOOIiarr 


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Voice,  Expre55ioii,  Ge5lure 


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♦  ♦  private  Stubent0»» 


SARAH    NEAIv    HARRIS. 


CONCORD,    N.  H.  : 

REPUBLICAN    PRESS   ASSOCIATION,  RAILROAD    SQUARE. 
189I. 


CopyTi]B:ht,  1891. 
SAEAH  NEAL  HARRIS. 


TABLE  OF  COl!^TE]S^TS. 


PAGE. 

ELOCUTION 1 

Oratory          1 

Position      .        .        .        • 2 

Gesture 3 

Expression 7 

Bow 8 

Breathing 9 

Chest 10 

Elocution 10 

Pitch 10 

Quantity 14 

Quality 19 

Pure       ....•...• 19 

Orotund 32 

Aspirate 45 

Guttural 48 

Pectoral 50 

Trembling 52 

Prolongation 54 

Falsetto 55 

Staccato       .       .       .       • 57 

Imitative 59 

Sonorous      .....        61 

Sostenuto 62 

Movement 64 

Quick 64 

Moderate 66 

Slow 67 

Inflection 69 

Bising 69 

Falling 70 

Monotone 72 

Emphasis 74 

Climax 76 

Anti-Climax 77 

Personation          .        • 79 

Highest  Physical  Culture.— Oratory 82 

Vital 82 

Mental 83 

Moral 84 

Inspiration  and  Explosion 86 

The  Fervent  Voice 86 


1127906 


iv  CONTENTS. 

SELECTIONS 89 

The  Power  of  Habit 89 

Lady  Geraldine's  Courtship 90 

The  Death  of  Arbaces 94 

The  Duty  of  Delight  .        .        • 96 

The  Rajah's  Clock 97 

The  Missing  Ship 100 

The  Legend  of  Easter  Eggs 101 

What  is  a  Minority 103 

Pyramids  not  all  Egyptian 104 

Goethe's  Hamlet „        .        .        .  106 

RizPAU 110 

Cartwheels •        .        .  112 

The  Wreck  of  the  Pocahontas 115 

Jack  the  Fisherman •        .  117 

A  Lost  Chord 120 

Mrs.  O'Shea  sees  Hamlet 121 

Cleopatra 124 

How  Grandma  Danced 128 

The  King's  Favorite 129 

The  Chariot  Race 130 

Bugle  Song 133 

The  Famine 134 

Masters  of  the  Situation 136 

The  Creeds  of  the  Bells 138 

Robert  of  Lincoln 139 

A  Rajput  Nurse 142 

Napoleon's  Overthrow 145 

Spice-Box  Sketches 147 

Old  Friends 150 

The  Hero  op  the  Tower 152 

Oh!  Had  I  Known 155 

Little  Tommy  Tucker •        .  155 

Speech  for  Decoration  Day 158 

Street  Cries 159 

Toussaint  L'Ouverture 160 

Back  from  the  War 162 

Conemaugh 164 

The  Maid  of  Orleans 165 

The  Volunteer  Organist 167 

Grant's  Strategy 169 

Bridge  of  the  Tay 170 

The  Ideal  in  Expression 173 

Sent  to  Heaven 174 

The  Destiny  of  the  Nation 176 

Bobolink 177 

At  the  Tomb  of  Napoleon 179 

Hello 180 

The  End  of  the  Rebellion 181 

What  the  Choir  Sang 182 

The  Old  Man's  Yesterday 183 

The  Spinning-Wheel  Song 184 

Fourth  of  July  in  Jonesvillb 186 


ELOCUTION. 


ORATORY. 


Eloquence  holds  the  first  rank  among  the  arts.  Rome  bor- 
rowed her  eloquence  from  Greece,  as  she  did  her  other 
arts  and  learning,  till  "  victorious  Home  was  herself  sub- 
dued by  Greece."  Aristotle's  definition  of  oratory  was, 
"The  power  of  saying  on  every  subject  whatever  can  be 
found  to  persuade;"  Phocian's,  "The  power  to  express 
the  most  sense  in  the  fewest  words;"  Quintilian  calls 
it  "The  power  of  persuading."  The  ancients  uncovered 
as  Cicero  approached,  and  cried,  "Behold  the  Orator!" 

While  we  award  praise  and  glory  to  great  musicians  and 
painters,  to  great  masters  of  sculpture  and  architecture, 
the  prize  of  honor  is  decreed  to  great  orators. 

Art  is  the  expression  of  the  beautiful  in  ideas.  It  is  also 
the  beautiful  in  action.  Poets  are  born ;  orators  are 
made. 

Perfect  beauty  is  nowhere  to  be  found.  It  must  be  created 
by  synthetic  work.  You  have  a  fine  voice;  it  has  its 
defects.  Your  articulation  is  vicious  and  your  gestures 
unnatural.  Do  not  rely  upon  the  fire  of  momentary 
inspiration.  Nothing  is  more  deceptive.  Garrick  said, 
"Do  not  de[)end  upon  that  inspiration  which  idle  medi- 
ocrity awaits." 

The  orator  should  not  even  think  of  what  he  is  doing. 
The  thing  should  have  been  so  much  studied  that  all 
would  seem  to  flow  of  itself. 


2  ELOCUTION. 

The  art  of  oratory  is  expressing  mental  thought  by  means 

of  physical    organs,    and    may   be    divided    into    three 

parts, — vital,  mental,  and  moral. 
Since  each  state  can  take  the  form  of  the  two  others,  the 

result  is  nine  distinct  positions  with  their  accompanying 

tones. 
A  tone  mnst  always  be  reproduced  with  an  expression  of 

the  face. 
The  highest  object  of  elocution  and  physical  culture  is  a 

more  perfect  unity  of  tone,  body,  soul. 

POSITION. 

Bring  the  weight  of  the  bod}^  upon  the  front  of  the  ad- 
vanced foot.  Raise  the  chest.  Hollow  the  back  at  the 
waist  line. 

This  position  indicates  a  desire  to  please  and  interest  jout 
audience. 

It  also  demands  attention. 

This  is  the  attitude  of  the  Apollo  Belvidere,  esteemed  one 
of  the  noblest  representations  of  the  human  frame. 

An  equal  balance  of  the  body  upon  its  two  feet  is  the  sign 
of  weakness,  of  respect.  It  characterizes,  also,  infancy 
and  decay.  It  is  the  attitude  of  the  soldier  at  "  atten- 
tion."    It  is  used  also  in  saluting  a  superior  officer. 

One  foot  advanced,  with  an  equal  weight  upon  both, 
denotes  reflection  and  the  absence  of  passion.  It  indi- 
cates calmness  and  strength,  which  are  the  signs  of 
intelligence. 

Bring  the  weight  on  the  back  foot.  It  is  a  sign  of  weak- 
ness which  follows  vehemence.  Natural  weakness  is  in 
the  second  position,  sudden  weakness  in  the  fourth. 

An  inclination  of  the  body  to  one  side  or  the  other  is  used 
in  personation.  It  is  a  third  to  one  side.  Is  generally 
passive  when  not  used  in  personation.  Jt  indicates 
calmness  and  strength. 


GESTURE.  6 

The  sixth  is  one  third  crossed.  It  is  an  attitude  of  respect 
and  ceremony.  It  is  effective  in  the  presence  of  princes. 
It  also  precedes  a  fall. 
.The  seventh  attitude  is  like  the  second  position,  with  the 
feet  farther  apart.  It  denotes  intoxication,  overwhelm- 
ing astonishment,  familiarity,  and  repose. 

One  foot  advanced,  with  the  body  facing  one  of  the  two 
legs.  It  serves  for  menace  and  jealousy.  It  is  offensive 
and  defensive.  It  leaves  the  audience  in  doubt,  which 
can  only  be  solved  by  the  first  or  fourth. 

An  equal  weight  upon  both  feet,  the  body  bending  back, 
is  the  sign  of  distrust  and  scorn. 

GESTURE. 

Gesture  reveals  what  speech  is  powerless  to  express.  It  is 
not  what  we  say  that  persuades,  but  the  manner  of 
saying  it. 

But  one  gesture  is  needed  for  the  expression  of  an  entire 
thought. 

Application  of  Gestures. 

Inexpressive  motions  should  always  be  avoided. 

No  gesture  should  be  made  without  a  reason  for  it,  and 
when  any  position  has  been  assumed  there  should  be 
no  change  from  it  without  a  reason. 

The  habit  of  allowing  the  hands  to  fall  to  the  side  imme- 
diately after  every  gesture  is  ungraceful,  and  the  effect 
is  bad  ;  they  must  not  be  cop.stantly  in  motion.  Re[)ose 
is  a  chief  element  of  gesticulating  effect.  Some  orators 
accompany  every  vocal  accent  by  a  bodily  motion  ; — the 
consequence  is,  that  gesticulate  ever  so  well,  and  how- 
ever energetic  the  gestures  may  be,  they  produce  no 
effect.  The  eye  is  f?tigued  with  gestures  that  illustrate 
nothing.  The  most  difficult  part  of  gesture  is  to  stand 
still  gracefully. 


4  ELOCUTION. 

The  frequency  of  gesture  will  depend  on  the  variety  of 
ideas  and  words  that  occur  in  the  language. 

A  uniform  strain  will  require  Init  little  gesture. 

A  variable,  flighty,  passionate  strain  will  demand  many 
gestures. 

Gestures  are  either  Directive,  Illustrative,  or  Emotive. 

Directive  gestures  carry  the  eye  of  the  spectator  to  the 
object  spoken  of,  which  is  either  visible,  or  supposed  to 
be  visible,  or  figuratively  presented  to  the  mind's  eye. 

The  gestures  must  be  arranged  with  pictorial  accuracy^ 
thus:  the  hand  and  eye  must  be  raised  in  pointing  to  sky 
or  mountain,  and  to  near  objects  above  the  speaker,  and 
depressed  below  the  horizontal  elevation  for  near  objects 
below  the  line  of  the  speaker's  eye ;  must  be  horizontal 
in  addressing  persons  around  us,  and  in  pointing  to 
objects  at  a  distance. 

Having  located  any  fixed  object  by  a  directive  gesture,  we 
come  to  the  same  point  in  again  speaking  of  it,  or 
any  object  associated  with  it,  without  a  change  of  scene. 

Illustrative  gestures  should  be  suited  to  the  idea  or  action 
they  illustrate,  thus :  drawing  a  sword,  etc. 

P^motive  gestures  are  such  as  fear,  indignation,  etc.,  spon- 
taneous with  the  feeling. 

The  eyes  should  generally  accompany  the  motions  of  the 
hands ;  but  in  directing  attention  to  any  object,  the  eye 
will  first  merely  glance  towards  it,  and  then  fix  itself 
upon  the  person  addressed,  while  the  finger  continues  to 
point.  The  head  must  not  lean  from  side  to  side  on 
the  gesture  points,  nor  must  it  rise  or  fall  with  the 
inflections  of  the  voice ;  it  should  be  kept  moderately, 
but  not  rigidly,  erect.  The  motions  of  the  arm  must 
commence  at  the  shoulder,  not  at  the  elbow.  The 
upper  part  of  the  arms  must  not  rest  in  contact  with 
the  sides.  The  motions  of  the  arms  must  not  be 
accompanied  by  any  action  of  the  shoulders.  The 
shoulders  must  be  kept  square  to  the  auditors'  vision. 


GESTURES,  5 

A  harmonizing  accompaniment  of  arm  to  arm  is  essential. 

When  onl}'  one  arm  is  used  in  the  gesture,  the  other  is 
brought  into  action  less  prominently,  and  at  a  lower 
elevation.  When  the  gesticulating  arm  comes  in  front 
of  and  across  the  body,  the  retired  arm  falls  a  little 
behind. 

When  the  gesticulating  arm  is  backward,  the  subordinate 
arm  advances. 

When  the  gesture  is  under  the  horizontal  elevation,  the 
other  arm  may  fall  laxly. 

Every  action  of  the  arm  should  be  terminated  by  an 
accentual  motion  of  the  hand  from  the  wrist. 

In  calm  and  unimpassioned  speaking,  the  accentual  beat 
of  the  gesture  will  coincide  with  the  vocal  accent. 

In  strong  emotion,  the  gesture  will  precede  the  words. 

The  motions  of  the  hand  must  be  made  entirely  from  the 
wrist. 

The  line  described  by  the  hand  in  any  motion  must  be  a 
curve,  except  in  violent  passion  when  the  rigidity  of 
the  joints  renders  the  line  of  action  straight  and  angu- 
lar. 

The  weight  of  the  body  should  be  sustained  generally  by 
one  foot,  and  the  body  should  be  shifted  at  every  change 
of  style  and  expression.  Every  motion  must  be  pre- 
ceded by  a  preparatory  movement  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, more  or  less  sweeping,  according  to  the  nature  of 
the  emotion. 

The  motions  of  the  feet  must  always  be  in  diagonal  lines. 

In  kneeling,  bring  that  knee  to  the  floor  first  which  is 
next  to  the  spectator. 

In  rising,  bring  up  the  knee  farthest  away. 

\ 
Gestures. 

Index  —  arch  of  the  wrist,  the  rigidity  of  the  thumb, 
forefiuger,  and  the  hollow  of  the  back  of  the  hand. 


6  ELOCUTION. 

Intertwined  in  Entreaty. 

Clenched  in  Anger. 

Supine  in  Rancor,  etc. 

Prone  in  Concealment. 

Tips  of  fingers  turned  inward  in  Invitation. 

Outward  in  Rejection  and  Dismissal. 

Crossed  on  the  chest  in  Meekness. 

Indexical  in  Command  and  Reproach. 

Noting  in  Warning. 

Advanced  on  palm  on  an  upward  incline  from  the  wrist 

above  medium  height — Remonstrance. 
At  medium  height — Pity. 
Below  medium  height — Mourning. 
Descend  prone  slowly  in  Blessing. 
Descend  prone  with  vehemence  in  ^Malediction. 
Hand  laid  on  the  breast  appeals  to  Conscience,  or  indicates 

Desire. 
Beating  the  breast  expresses  Remorse. 
Laid  on  the  lower  part  of  chest  indicates  Pride. 
Applied  to  the  forehead  indicates  Doubt. 
Moved  across  the  forehead — Confusion  or  Mental  Distress. 
Supporting  the  side  of  the  head — Stupor. 
Supporting  the  cheek — Languor. 
Supporting  the  chin — Meditation. 
Laid  on  the  lips  enjoins  Silence. 
Back   of   one    hand   laid   in   palm    of   the     other — Entire 

Determination. 
Right  hand  vertical  in  Vindication. 
Applied  in  Appeal. 
Wave  in  Admiration. 
Clasped  in  Joy. 
Folded  in  Resignation. 
Shake  in  Terror. 
Start  in  Astonishment. 
Wave  supine  downward  in  Salutation. 
Hand  on  crown  of  the  head — Delirium. 


GESTURES. 


Hciiid  pressed  on  the  upper  part  of  chest — Palpitation  of 

the  heart — Difficulty  in  breathing. 
Objects  above  the  horizontal  elevation  in  directive  gestures 

are  always  supine  ;  objects  below,  prone. 


GESTURES. 


Salutation, 

Dismissal. 

Invitation. 

Entreaty. 

Faith.     Reverse. 

Anger.     Reverse. 

Meekness. 

Reproach.     Reverse. 

Sorrow. 

Hope.     Reverse. 

Warning.     Reverse. 

Fear.     Reverse. 

Blessing. 

Meditation. 

Pity. 

Conscience. 

Malediction. 

Prayer. 

Curiosity. 

Time  and  Place. 

Feather  Movement. 

Doubt. 

Waiting. 


Signal. 

Supplication. 

Listening.     Reverse. 

Fruition. 

Imagination. 

Determination. 

Expectation.     Reverse. 

Delight. 

Repugnance. 

Agony. 

Liberty.     Reverse, 

Delirium. 

Astonishment. 

Silence. 

Vindication. 

Climax. 


Defiance. 

Affection 

Vow. 

Command. 

Remonstrance. 

Expressive  Joy. 

Good-Night. 


Reverse. 
Reverse. 


EXPRESSION. 

None  of  our   powers  are  more   susceptible  of   cultivation 
than  those  of  expression. 

I  Lave  seen  an  eye  curse,  and  an  eyebrow  call  a  man  a  scDundrel. 

— Addison. 


8  ELOCUTION. 

In  the  higher  emotions,  love,  hope,  patriotism,  and  sublim- 
ity, the  lines  of  the  face  curve  upward,  the  expression  is 
uplifted. 

In  calm  and  ]jlacid  emotions,  the  lines  are  horizontal. 

The  lower  emotions,  such  as  hate,  fear,  revenge,  the  lines 
are  downward. 

Every  expression  of  the  face,  every  position  of  the  body, 
every  gesture,  is  but  the  outward  expression  of  the  mind 
and  heart,  be  it  one  of  beauty  or  ugliness. 

Attitude  is  but  arrested  expression;  all  the  higher  emo- 
tions find  expression  in  spiral  movements. 

Gesture  is  expression.  The  mind  can  be  interested  by 
speech  ;  it  must  be  persuaded  by  gesture. 

If  the  face  bears  no  signs,  we  do  not  persuade. 

Facial  expression  is  the  language  of  the  soul. 

There  is  something  marvellous  in  this  language,  because  it 
has  relations  with  another  si)here — the  world  of  grace. 

The  basis  of  this  art  is  to  make  the  audience  divine  what 
we  would  have  them  feel. 

The  eye  is  the  window  of  the  soul ; — let  it  express  the  emo- 
tions contained  in  the  given  selection. 

It  takes  many  words  to  say  what  a  single  word  reveals. 

Cicero  says,  "  Nature  hath  bestowed  upon  man  a  bodily 
figure  completely  adapted  to  his  mind.  The  face  of  every 
other  animal  he  hath  turned  downward  to  the  ground, 
from  whence  its  nourishment  is  drawn  ;  to  man  alone  is 
given  a  form  erect,  a  face  turned  upward  to  his  kindred 
heaven,  to  those  divine  abodes  which  are  his  native  seat. 
She  has,  besides,  so  exquisitely  modelled  the  human  feat- 
ures that  they  are  capable  of  expressing  the  most  secret 
emotions  of  the  soul.  The  penetrating  glances  of  the  eye 
indicate  the  corresponding  internal  affections,  and  the 
moral  character  is  shown  in  the  face. 

BOW. 

In  making  a  bow,  bring  the  a(>anced  foot  behind  the  other, 
the  knee  of  which   bend  with  the  weight  of  the  body. 


BREATHING. 


BREATHING. 


There  are  three  kinds  of  breathing, — Abdominal,  Costal, 
and  Dorsal. 

Abdominal  Breathing. 

Place  both  hands  upon  the  abdomen  and  breathe  deeply, 
forcing  the  muscles  outward. 

Let  them  sink  as  much  as  possible  during  exhalation. 

Aspirate  the  letter  aS',  breathing  out  as  long  as  possible, 
letting  the  abdominal  muscles  contract. 

Slowly  breathe  back  until  the  abdominal  muscles  extend 
outward  to  the  utmost.  Imagine  yourself  blowing  a 
feather  in  the  air.  Expel  the  breath,  blowing  quickly. 
Contract  the  abdominal  muscles.  Draw  the  breath  b  ick, 
filling  the  abdomen,  extending  the  muscles. 

Give  the  vowels — A,  U,  /,  0,  U.  Place  the  hand  upon 
the  abdomen.  Take  a  full  breath,  throwing  the  muscles 
outward,  and  say  A  in  a  full  tone,  until  the  muscles  con- 
tract to  the  utmost. 

This  should  be  practised  only  a  few  minutes  at  a  time. 

Costal   Breathing. 

Distend  the  sides  while  inhaling,  and  relax  gradually 
with  slow  and  regular  exhalation. 

Dorsal  Breathing. 

Inhale  as  if  endeavoring  to  thrust  out  the  muscles  of  the 
back  by  the  force  of  the  air. 


10  ELOCUTION. 

CHEST. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  Chests, — Active  and  Passive. 

Active  Chest. 

The  Active  Position    of  the  chest  represents   intensity  of 
thought  and  feeling. 

Passive  Chest. 

The  Passive  Position  of  the  chest  is  that  in  which  there 
is  absence  of  passion. 

ELOCUTION. 

Elocution  is  the  correct  expression  of  thought  by  Speech 

and  Gesture. 
The    elements    in    the    expression   of    every   emotion    are 

Bitch,  Quantity,  Quality,  Movement,  and  Inflection. 

PITCH, 

The  voice    should    always  follow  the    conceptive   location 
of  the  object, — Moral  and  Physical. 

Examples. 

Hear  it  not,  Duncan  ;  for  it  is  a  knell 

That  summons  thee  to  heaven,  or  to  hell. — Macbeth. 

Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  fate, 
All  but  the  page  prescribed,  their  present  state. 
Oh  blindness  to  the  future  !  kindly  given. 
That  each  may  fill  the  circle  marked  by  Heaven : 
Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 
A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall, 


PITCH.  11 

Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurled, 
And  now  a  bubble  burst,  and  now  a  world. 
Hope  humbly,  then  ;  with  trembling  pinions  soar ; 
Wait  the  gi-eat  teacher  Death ;  and  God  adore. 
What  future  bliss,  he  gives  not  thee  to  know, 
But  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing  now. 
Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast ; 
Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest. — Pope. 

"  Whither  is  fled  the  visionary  gleam  ? 
Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream  ?  " 

"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting. 
The  soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting. 

And  Cometh  from  afar. 
Not  in  entire  forgetfulness. 
And  not  in  utter  nakedness 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory,  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  is  our  home." 

"  Oh,  joy  !  that  in  our  embers 
Is  something  that  doth  live, 
That  nature  yet  remembers 
What  was  so  fugitive  !  " 

The  thought  of  our  past  years  doth  breed 

Perpetual  benediction  :  not,  indeed. 

For  that  which  is  most  worthy  to  be  blest, 

Delight  and  liberty,  the  simple  creed 

Of  childhood,  whether  busy  or  at  rest. 

With  new-fledged  hope  still  fluttering  in  his  breast. 

Not  for  these  1  raise 

The  song  of  thanks  and  praise ; 
But  for  those  obstinate  questionings 
Of  sense  and  outward  things. 
Fallings  from  us,  vanishings  ; 
Blank  misgivings  of  a  creature 
Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realized ; 


12  ELOCUTION. 

High  instincts  before  which  our  moral  nature 
Did  tumble  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised! 

But  for  those  first  affections, 

Those  shadowy  recollections, 
Which,  be  they  what  they  may, 
Are  yet  the  fountain  light  of  all  our  day, — 

Truths  that  awake  to  perish  never. 
Hence,  in  a  season  of  calm  weather, 

Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 

Which  brought  us  hither. —  Wordsivorth. 

A  gay,  serene  spirit  is  the  source  of  all  that  is  noble  and  good. 
Whatever  is  accomplished  of  the  greatest  and  noblest  sort  flows 
from  such  a  disposition.  Petty,  gloomy  souls,  that  only  mourn  the 
past  and  dread  the  future,  are  not  capable  of  seizing  upon  the 
holiest  moments  of  life,  of  enjoying  and  making  use  of  them  as  they 
should. — Frederick  von  Schiller. 

"  No  day  is  commonplace,  if  we  had  only  eyes  to  see  its  splen- 
dor." 

Hearts,  like  apples,  are  hard  and  sour, 
Till  crushed  by  pain's  resistless  power; 
And  yield  their  juices  rich  and  bland 
To  none  but  sorrow's  heavy  hand. 
The  purest  streams  of  human  love 

Flow  naturally  never. 
But  gush  by  pressure  from  above. 

With  God's  hand  on  the  lever. 
The  first  are  tui-bidest  and  meanest ; 
The  last  are  sweetest  and  serene^t. — Aldrich. 

There  is  a  thought  higher  than  mortal  thought; 
There  is  a  love  warmer  than  moi'tal  love ; 
There  is  a  life,  which  taketh  not  its  hues 
Frorfl  earth  or  earthly  things,  and  so  grows  pure, 
And  higher  than  the  petty  cares  of  men, 
And  is  a  blessed  life,  and  sanctified. — Morris. 


PITCH.  13 

To  be  at  work,  to  do  things  for  the  world,  to  turn  the  currents  o£ 
the  things  about  us  at  our  will,  to  make  our  existence  a  positive 
element,  even  though  it  be  no  bigger  than  a  grain  of  sand,  in  this 
great  system  where  we  live, — that  is  a  new  joy  of  which  the  idle 
man  knows  no  more  than  the  mole  knows  of  the  sunshine  or  the 
serpent  of  the  eagle's  triumphant  flight  into  the  upper  air.  The 
man  who  knows  indeed  what  it  is  to  act,  to  work,  cries  out,  "This, 
this  alone  is  to  live  !  " — Phill'qjs  Brooks. 

Every  day  is  a  fresh  beginning ; 

Every  morn  is  the  world  made  new ; 
You  who  are  weary  of  sorrow  and  sinning, 

Here  is  a  beautiful  hope  for  you — 

A  hope  for  me,  and  a  hope  for  you. 

Every  day  is  a  fresh  beginning : 

Listen,  my  soul,  to  the  glad  refrain, 

And,  spite  of  old  sorrow  and  older  sinning, 
And  jiuzzles  forecasted  and  possible  pain. 
Take  heart  with  the  day,  and  begin  again ! 

— Susan  Coolidge. 

''  Rouse  thee  up !  Oh,  waste  not  life  in  fond  delusions !  Be  a 
soldier  1     Be  a  hero!     Be  a  man!  " 

The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strain'd  ; 

It  droppeth,  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 

Upon  the  i)lace  beneatb  ;  it  is  tAvice  bless'd ; 

It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes ; 

'T  is  mightiest  in  the  mightiest ;  it  becomes 

The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown ; 

His  sceptre  shows  the  force  of  temporal  power. 

The  attribute  to  awe  and  majesty, 

Wherein  doth  sit  the  dread  and  fear  of  kings ; 

But  mercy  is  above  this  sceptered  sway, — 

It  is  enthroned  in  the  hearts  of  kings. 

It  is  an  attribute  to  God  bimself. — Shakespeaj'e. 


14  ELOCUTION. 


NOBLESSE    OBLIGE. 

'T  is  wisdom's  law,  the  perfect  code, 

By  love  inspired ; 
Of  him  on  whom  much  is  bestowed, 

Is  much  required ; 
The  tuneful  throat  is  bid  to  sing, 
'   The  oak  must  reign  the  forest's  king. 

The  rushing  stream  the  wheel  must  move. 
The  tempered  steel  its  strength  must  prove, 
'T  is  given  with  the  eagle's  eyes 
To  face  the  midday  skies. 

If  I  am  weak  and  you  are  strong, 

Why  then,  why  then 
To  you  the  braver  deeds  belong ! 

And  so,  again, 
If  you  have  gifts  and  I  have  none, 
If  I  have  shade  and  you  have  sun, 

'T  is  yours  with  freer  hand  to  give, 

'T  is  yours  with  truer  grace  to  live, 
Than  I,  who  giftless,  sunless,  stand 
"With  barren  life  and  hand. — CarLotta  Perry. 

QUANTITY. 

Words  should  be  spoken  quickly,  with  piuises  between  of 
greater  or  less  length  according  to  the  levity  or  gravity 
of  the  emotion. 

Quantity  may  be  long  or  short. 

Words  of  dignity  and  strength  require  Long  Quantity. 

Words  of  impatience,  stubbornness,  and  sudden  action 
require  Short  Quantity. 

EXAMPLES  OF  LONG  QUANTITY. 

It  must  be  so  :  Plato,  thou  reasonest  well ! 

Else  whence  this  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire, 

This  longing  after  immortality  ? 


LONG   QUANTITY.  15 

'T  is  the  divinity  that  stirs  within  us ; 

'T  is  heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter, 

And  intimates  eternity  to  man. — Addison. 

To  die, — to  sleep, — 
No  more  ; — and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 
The  heart-ache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
That  flesh  is  heir  to, — 't  is  a  consummation 
Devoutly  to  be  wished.     To  die  ; — to  sleep  ; — 
To  sleep  !  perchance  to  dream  :   aye,  there  's  the  rub  ! 
For  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may  come, 
Must  give  us  pause  ! — ShakesjMare. 

As  Caesar  loved  me,  I  weep  for  him  ; 
As  he  was  fortunate,  I  rejoice  at  it ; 
As  he  was  valiant,  I  honof  him ; 
But,  as  he  was  ambitious,  I  slew  him. 

— Shakespeare^ 

Pray  for  my  soul.     More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 

Than  this  world  dreams  of.     Wherefore,  let  thy  voice 

Rise  like  a  fountain  for  me  night  and  day ! 

For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats 

That  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 

If,  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer 

Both  for  themselves  and  those  who  call  them  friends  ? 

For  so  the  whole  round  earth  is  every  way 

Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God. —  Tennyson. 

And  the  raven,  never  Hitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting 

On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber  door; 

And  his  eyes  have  all  the  seeming  of  a  demon's  that  is  dreaming, 

And   the  lamp-light    o'er  him   streaminu'   throws  his  shadow  on   the 

floor; 
And  my  soiU  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on  the  llooi', 
Shall  be  lifted — >'i:vfj{.moi:e! — Poe. 

O  Lord,  our  Lord,  how  excellent  is  Thy  name  in  all  the  earth, 
who  hast  set  Thy  glory  above  the  heavens.  AVhen  I  consider  Thy 
heavens,  the  work  of  Thy  fingers ;  tlie  moon  and  the  stars,  which 
Thou  hast  ordained  ;  what  is  man  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him  ? 


16  ELOCUTION. 

and  the  son  of  man,  that  Thou  viaitest  liim  ?  For  Thou  hast  made 
him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  and  hast  crowned  him  with  glory 
and  honor.  Thou  madest  him  to  have  dominion  over  the  works  of 
Thy  hands :  Thou  hast  put  all  things  under  his  feet.  O  Lord, 
our  Lord,  how  excellent  is  Thy  name  in  all  the  earth. — Bible. 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  hells — 

Iron  bells ! 
What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody  compels ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone. 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 
Is  a  groan. — Poe. 

To  make  men  patriots,  to  make  men  Christians,  to  make  men  the 
sons  of  God,  let  all  the  doors  of  heaven  be  opened,  and  let  God 
drop  down  charmed  gifts — winged  imaginations,  all-perceiving 
reason,  and  all-judging  reason.  Whatever  there  is  that  can  make 
men  wiser  and  better — let  it  descend  upon  the  head  of  him  who 
has  consecrated  himself  to  the  work  of  mankind,  and  who  has  made 
himself  an  orator  for  man's  sake  and  for  God's  sake. 

—^H.  W.  Beecher. 
O  lonely  tomb  in  Moab's  land ! 

O  dark  Beth-peor's  hill ! 
Speak  to  these  curious  hearts  of  ours, 

And  teach  them  to  be  still. 
God  hath  His  mysteries  of  grace, — 

Ways  that  we  cannot  tell; 
He  hides  them  deep,  like  the  secret  sleep 

Of  him  He  loved  so  well. — C.  F.  Alexander. 

O  Death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ? 

0  Grave  !  where  is  thy  victory  ? — Bible. 

Short  Quantity. 

He  conquers  the  current,  he  gains  on  the  sea, — 
Ho,  where  is  the  swimmer  like  Charlie  Machree? 

—  William  J.  Hoppin. 


SHORT    QLTANTITY.  17 

Not  a  word,  not  a  wail  from  a  lip  was  let  fall, 

Not  a  kiss  from  my  bride,  not  a  look  or  low  call 

Of  lov£-note  or  com-age,  but  on  o'er  the  plain 

So  steady  and  still,  leaning  low  to  the  mane, 

Rode  we  on,  rode  we  tlu-ee,  rode  we  nose  and  grey  nose. 

Reaching  long,  breathing  loud,  like  a  creviced  wind  blows ;  — 

Yet  we  broke  not  a  whisper,  we  breathed  not  a  prayer, 

There  was  work  to  be  done,  there  was  death  in  the  air. 

— Joaquin  Miller. 

" '  Hold,  there ! '  the  other  quick  replies : 

*  'T  is  green :  I  saw  it  with  these  eyes, 

As  late  with  open  mouth  it  lay, 

And  warmed  it  in  the  sunny  ray. 

Stretched  at  its  ease,  the  beast  I  viewed, 

And  saw  it  eat  the  air  for  food.' 

'  I  've  seen  it,  sir,  as  well  as  you, 

And  must  again  affirm  it  blue. 

At  leisure  I  the  beast  surveyed, 

Extended  in  the  cooling  shade.' 

' '  T  is  green,  't  is  green,  sir,  I  assure  ye  ! ' 

'  Green  1 '  cries  the  other  in  a  fury : 

'  "Why,  sir !  d'  ye  think  I  've  lost  ray  eyes  ? ' 

''T  were  no  great  loss.'  the  friend  replies; 

'  For,  if  they  always  serve  you  thus, 

You  'U  find  them  of  but  little  use.' " 

"  Stay  there,  or  I  '11  proclaim  you  to  the  house  and  the  whole 
street!  If  you  try  to  evade  me,  I  'U  stop  you,  if  it's  by  the  hair, 
Mid  raise  the  very  stones  against  you." 

"  Hark  to  the  bugle's  roundelay ! 
Boot  and  saddle !     Up  and  away  ! 
Mount  and  ride  as  ye  ne'er  vode  before ; 
Spur  till  your  horses'  flanks  run  gore : 
Ride  for  the  sake  of  liuman  lives ; 
Ride  as  ye  would  for  your  sisters  and  wives 
Cowering  under  their  scalping  knives. 
Boot  and  saddle  !     Away,  away !  " 


18  EI.OCUTrON. 

If  ever  you  saw  an  old  horse  spring  ujiwarcl  into  a  new, 
If  ever  you  saw  a  driver  whose  traps  behind  him  flew, 
'T  was  that  okl  horse  a  racing  and  a  running  along  the  track, 
And  that  resi:)ectable  milkman  a-tryihg  to  hold  him  hack ! 
Away  he  dashed  like  a  cyclone  for  the  head  of  No.  3,    . 
Gained  the  lead  and  kept  it,  and  steered  the  journey  free, 
Dodging  the  wheels  and  horses,  and  still  on  the  keenest  silk, 
And  a  furnishing  all  that  deestrick  with  good  respectable  milk ! 

— Carleton. 

Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil. 
Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil. 
Like  mountain  cat  who  guards  her  young, 
Fidl  at  Fitz- James's  throat  he  sprung. — Scott. 

"  The  war  that  for  a  space  did  fail. 
Now  trebly  thundering,  swell'd  the  gale. 

And,  Stanley  !  was  the  cry  ; 
A  light  on  Marmion's  vision  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye. 
With  dying  hand  above  his  head. 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  Victory !  " 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 
A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark. 
And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet ; 
That  was  all ! — Longfellow. 

A  cannon  which   breaks   its   moorings   becomes    abruptly  soi 
indescribable,    supernatural   beast.     It  is  a  machine   which  trani 
forms   itself  into  a  monster.     This  mass  runs  on  its  wheels,  likl 
billiard-balls,  inclines  with  the   rolling,  jilunges  with  the  pitchingJ 
goes,  comes,  stops,  seems   to  meditate,  resumes  its    course,  shootsi 
from  one  end  of  the  ship  to  the  other  like  an  arrow,  whirls,  steals' 
away,  evades,  prances,  strikes,  breaks,  kills,  exterminates. 

—  Victor  Hugo. 


CONVERSATION.  19 


QUALITY. 

Different  qualities  of  voice  are  associated  with  different 
emotions.  Tiiere  are  twelve  qualities  of  voice, — the 
Pure,  Orotund,  Aspirate,  Guttural,  Pectoral,  Trembling, 
Prolongation,  Falsetto,  Staccato,  Imitative,  Sonorous, 
and  Sostenuto. 

Pure  Quality. 

The  Pure  Quality  is  used  in  common  conversation,  simple 
narration,  and  description.  The  face  should  be  ani- 
mated and  pleasant.     Gestures  supine. 

Examples  of  Common  Conversation. 

Touch.  How  old  are  you,  friend  ? 
Will.  Five  and  twenty,  sir. 
TourJi.  A  ripe  age.     Is  tliy  name  William  ? 
Will.  William,  sir. 

Touch.  A  fair  name.     Wast  born  i'  the  forest  here  ? 
Will.  Ay,  sir,  I  thank  God. 

Touch.  Thank  God  !  a  good  answer.     Art  rich  ? 
Will.  Faith,  sir,  so  so. 

Touch.  So  so  is  good,  very  good, — very  excellent  good :  and  yet 
it  is  not ;  it  is  but  so  so. — Shakesjieare. 

Once  came  to  our  fields  a  pair  of  birds  that  had  never  built  a 
nest  nor  seen  a  winter.  Oh,  how  beautiful  was  everything !  The 
fields  were  fiUl  of  flowers,  and  the  grass  was  growing  tall,  and  the 
bees  were  humming  everywhere. — Henry  Ward  Beecher. 

Gratiano  speaks  {in  infinite  deal  of  nothing,  more  than  any  man 
in  all  Venice.  His  reasons  are  two  grains  of  wheat  hid  in  two 
bushels  of  chaff:  you  shall  seek  all  day  ere  you  find  them,  and 
when  you  have  them  they  are  not  worth  the  search. — Shalcespeare. 

Pol.  My  lord,  the  queen  would  speak  with  yon,  and  presently. 
Ham.  Do  you  see    yonder    cloud   that 's   almost  in  shape    of  a 
camel  ? 


20  ELOCUTION. 

Pol.  By  the  mass,  and  't  is  like  a  camel,  indeed. 
Hain.  Methinks  it  is  like  a  weasel. 
Pol.  It  is  backed  like  a  weasel. 
Ham.  Or  like  a  whale. 
Pol.  Very  like  a  whale. 

Ham.  Then  I  wiU  come  to  my  mother  by  and  by.  They  fool 
me  to  the  top  of  my  bent.     I  will  come  by  and  by. 

Pol.  I  wiU  say  so.  — Shakespeare. 

"  There  's  something  in  a  noble  boy, 
A  brave,  free-hearted,  careless  one, 
With  his  unchecked,  unbidden  joy. 

His  dread  of  books,  and  love  of  fim, — 

"And  in  his  clear  and  ready  smile. 
Unshaded  by  a  thought  of  guile, 

And  unrepressed  by  sadness, — 
Which  brings  me  to  my  childhood  back, 
As  if  I  trod  its  very  track. 

And  felt  its  very  gladness." 

"Now,"  said  Wardle,  "what  say  you  to  an  hour  on  the  ice? 
We  shall  have  plenty  of  time." 

"Capital!  "  said  Mr.  Benjamin  Allen.. 

"  Prime  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Bob  Sawyer. 

"  You  skate,  of  course.  Winkle  ?  "  said  Wardle. 

"  Ye-yes  ;  oh,    yes  !  "  replied   Mr.   Winkle.     "  I am    rather 

out  of  practice." 

"  Oh,  do  skate,  Mr.  Winkle,"  said  Arabella.  "  I  like  to  see  it  so 
much ! " 

"  Oh,  it  is  so  gracefid  !  "  said  another  young  lady. 

A  third  young  lady  said  it  was  elegant,  and  a  foui-th  expressed 
her  opinion  that  it  was  "  swan-like." 

"  I  should  be  very  happy,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Mr.  Winkle,  redden- 
ing ;  "  but  I  have  no  skates." 

This  objection  was  at  once  overruled.  Trundle  had  got  a  couple 
of  pair,  and  the  fat  boy  announced  that  there  were  half  a  dozen 
more  down  stairs ;  wher^at  Mr.  Winkle  expressed  exquisite  delight, 
and  looked  exquisitely  uncomfortable. 

Old  Wardle  led   the  way  to  a  pretty  large  sheet  of  ice  ;    and 


CONVERSATION.  21 

the  fat  boy  and  Mr.  Weller  having  shovelled  and  swept  away  the 
snow  which  had  fallen  on  it  during  the  night,  Mr.  Bob  Sawyer 
adjusted  his  skates  with  a  dexterity  which  to  Mr.  Winkle  was  per- 
fectly marvellous,  and  described  circles  with  his  left  leg,  and  cut 
figui'es  of  eight,  and  inscribed  upon  the  ice,  without  once  stopping 
for  breath,  a  great  many  other  pleasant  and  astonishing  devices, 
to  the  excessive  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Pickwick,  Mr.  Tupman,  and  the 
ladies ;  which  reached  a  pitch  of  positive  enthusiasm  when  old 
Wardle  and  Benjamin  Allen,  assisted  by  the  aforesaid  Bob  Sawyer, 
performed  some  mystic  evolutions,  which  they  called  a  reel. 

All  this  time  Mr.  Winkle,  with  his  face  and  hands  blue  with 
the  cold,  had  been  forcing  a  gimlet  into  the  soles  of  his  feet,  and 
putting  his  skates  on  with  the  points  behind,  and  getting  the  straps 
into  a  very  complicated  and  entangled  state,  with  the  assistance  of 
Mr.  Snodgrass,  who  knew  rather  less  about  skates  than  a  Hindoo. 
At  length,  however,  with  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Weller,  the  unfortu- 
nate skates  were  firmly  screwed  and  buckled  on,  and  Mr.  Winkle 
was  raised  to  his  feet. 

"  Now,  then,  sir,"  said  Sam,  in  an  encouraging  tone,  "  off  with 
you,  and  show  'em  how  to  do  it." 

"  Stop,  Sam,  stop  I "  said  Mr.  Winkle,  trembling  violently,  and 
clutching  hold  of  Sam's  arms  with  the  grasp  of  a  drowning  man. 
"How  slippery  it  is,  Sam." 

"  Not  an  uncommon  thing  upon  ice,  sir,"  rejilied  Mr.  Weller. 
"  Hold  up,  sir." 

This  last  observation  of  Mr.  Waller's  bore  reference  to  a  demon- 
stration Mr.  Winkle  made,  at  the  instant,  of  a  frantic  desire  to 
throw  his  feet  in  the  air,  and  dash  the  back  of  his  head  on  the 
ice. 

•'These — these — are  very  awkward  skates;  a'n't  they,  Sam?" 
inquired  Mr.  Winkle,  staggering. 

"I'm  afeerd  there's  an  orkard  gen'lm'n  in  'em,  sir."  replied  Sam. 

"Now,  Winkle,"  cried  Mr.  Pickwick,  quite  unconscious  that 
there  was  anything  the  matter.  "  Come :  the  ladies  are  aU  anx- 
iety." 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Mr.  Winkle  with  a  ghastly  smile,  "I'm 
coming." 

"  Just  a-goin'  to  begin,"  said  Sam,  endeavoring  to  disengage  him- 
self.    "Now,  sir,  start  off." 


22  ELOCUTION. 

"Stop  an  instant,  Sam,"  gasped  Mr.  Winkle,  clinging  most 
affectionately  to  Mr.  Weller.  "I  find  I  've  got  a  couple  of  coats  at 
home  that  I  do  n't  want,  Sam.     You  may  have  them,  Sam." 

"  Thankee,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Welller. 

"Never  mind  touching  your  hat,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Winkle,  hastily. 
"  You  need  n't  take  your  hand  away  for  that.  I  meant  to  have 
given  you  five  shillings  this  morning  for  a  Christmas-hox,  Sam. 
I  '11  give  it  to  you  this  afternoon,  Sam." 

"You're  werry  good,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Weller. 

"Just  hold  me  at  first,  Sam,  will  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Winkle.  *"'  There, 
that 's  right.  I  shall  soon  get  in  the  way  of  it,  Sam.  Not  too  fast, 
Sam  :  not  too  fast." 

Mr.  Winkle,  stooping  forward  with  his  body  half  doubled  up,  was 
being  assisted  over  the  ice  by  Mr.  Weller  in  a  very  unswan-like 
manner,  when  Mr.  Pickwick  most  innocently  shouted  from  the  oppo- 
site bank,  "  Sam  !  " 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Weller. 

"  Here  !  I  want  you." 

"  Let  go,  sir.  Do  n't  you  hear  the  gove'nor  a-callin'  ?  Let  go, 
sir." 

With  a  violent  effort  Mr.  Weller  disengaged  himself  from  the 
grasp  of  the  agonized  Pickwickian,  and,  in  so  doing,  administered  a 
considerable  impetus  to  the  unhappy  ]Mi\  Winkle.  With  an  accu- 
racy which  no  degree  of  dexterity  or  practice  could  have  insured, 
that  unfortunate  gentleman  bore  swiftly  into  the  centre  of  the  reel, 
at  the  very  moment  when  Mr.  Bob  Sawyer  was  performing  a  flourish 
of  unparalleled  beauty.  Mr.  Winkle  struck  wildly  against  him,  and 
with  a  loud  crash  they  fell  heavily  down.  Mr.  Pickwick  ran  to  the 
spot.  Bob  Sawyer  had  ristn  to  his  feet ;  but  Mr.  Winkle  was  far 
too  wise  to  do  anything  of  the  kind  in  skates.  He  was  seated  on 
the  ice,  making  spasmodic  efforts  to  smile  ;  but  anguish  was  depicted 
on  every  lineament  of  his  countenance. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  in(|uired  Mr.  Benjamin  Allen  with  great 
anxiety. 

"Not  much,"  said  Mr.  Winkle,  rubbing  his  back  very  hard. 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  bleed  you,"  said  Mr.  Benjamin  Allen 
with  great  eagerness. 

''  No,  thank  you,"  rei)lied  Mr.  Winkle  hurriedly. 

"  I  really  think  you  had  better,"  said  Mr.  Allen. 


CONVERSATION.  23 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Mr.  Winkle  ;  "  I  'd  rather  not." 

"  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Pickwick  ?"  inquired  Boh  Sawyer. 

Mr.  Pickwick  was  excited  and  indignant.  He  beckoned  to  Mr. 
Weller,  and  said  in  a  stern  voice,  "  Take  his  skates  ofE!" 

"No  ;  hut  really  I  had  scarcely  begun,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Winkle. 

"Take  his  skates  ojffil"  repeated  Mr.  Pickwick  firmly. 

The  command  was  not  to  be  resisted.     Mr.  Winkle  allowed  Sam 
to  obey  it  in  silence. 
•    "  Lift  him  up,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick.     Sam  assisted  him  to  rise. 

Mr.  Pickwick  retired  a  few  places  apart  from  the  bystanders,  and, 
beckoning  his  friend  to  a]>proach,  fixed  a  searching  look  upon  him, 
and  uttered,  in  a  low  but  distinct  and  emphatic  tone,  these  remark- 
able words, — 

"  You  're  a  humbug,  sir. — Pickwick  Papers. 

"And  the  Lord  God  formed  man  of  the  dust  of  the  ground,  and 
breathed  into  his  nostrils  the  breath  of  life,  and  the  man  became  a 
living  soul."  How  wonderfid  is  breath !  It  comes  to  us  in  the  soft 
summer  morning  laden  with  the  perf  um^  of  flowers ;  but  ere  it 
reaches  us  it  has  kissed  a  thousand  scented  leaves.  The  birds  soar 
aloft  in  its  mysterious  ether,  pouring  their  triumphal  songs  on  its 
resonant  bosom ;  and  the  butterfly  and  the  buzzing  insect,  "  like 
winged  flowers  and  flying  gems,"  sparkle  and  shimmer  in  their 
dazzling  beauty. 

But,  whether  it  brings  upon  its  waves  the  mutte rings  of  the  com- 
ing storm,  or  the  merry,  ringing  laugh  of  childhood, — the  awful 
booming  of  the  heavy  cannonade,  or  the  silvery  tone  of  the  violin, — 
it  is  air,  such  as  we  breathe.  Oh !  then  let  it  become  a  thing  of  joy 
to  us.  Let  us  learn  to  make  it  a  thing  of  beauty,  wreathing  em- 
bodied thoughts  in  vocal  gems  of  purity  and  sweetness,  that  shall 
gladden  the  ears  of  all  who  listen. — Bronson. 

"Abou  Ben  Adhem  (may  his  tribe  increase!) 
Awoke  one  night  from  a  deep  dream  of  peace, 
And  saw  within  the  moonlight  of  his  room. 
Making  it  rich  and  like  a  lily  in  bloom. 
An  angel  writing  in  a  book  of  gold. 
Exceeding  peace  had  made  Ben  Adhem  bold ; 


24  ELOCUTION. 

And  to  the  presence  in  the  room  he  said, 

'  Wliat  writest  thou  ?  '     The  vision  raised  its  head, 

And,  with  a  look  made  of  all  sweet  accord, 

Answered,  'The  names  of  those  who  love  the  Lord.' 

'  And  is  mine  one  ? '  asked  Abou.     '  Nay,  not  so,' 

Replied  the  angel.     Abou  spoke  more  low. 

But  cheerly  still ;  and  said,  '  I  pray  thee,  then, 

Write  me  as  one  that  loves  his  fellow-men.' 

The  angel  wrote,  and  vanished.     The  next  night 

It  came  again,  with  a  great  wakening  light. 

And  shoAved  the  names  whom  love  of  God  had  blest ; 

And,  lo  !  Ben  Adhem's  name  led  all  the  rest." 

"  It  is  related  of  Michael  Angelo,  that,  while  walking  with  some 
friends  through  an  obscure  street  in  the  city  of  Florence,  he  dis- 
covered a  fine  block  of  marble  lying  neglected  in  a  yard,  and  half 
buried  in  dirt  and  rubbish.  Regardless  of  his  holiday  attire,  he  at 
once  fell  to  work  upon  it,  clearing  away  its  filth,  and  striving  to  lift 
it  from  the  slime  and  mire  in  which  it  lay.  His  comjianions  asked 
him,  in  astonishment,  what  he  was  doing,  and  what  he  wanted  with 
that  worthless  piece  of  rock.  'Oh,  there's  an  angel  in  the  stone,' 
was  the  answer,  '  and  I  must  get  it  out !  ' 

"  He  had  it  removed  to  his  studio,  and  with  patient  toil,  with 
mallet  and  chisel,  he  let  the  angel  out.  What  to  others  was  but  a 
rude,  unsightly  mass  of  stone,  to  his  educated  eye  was  the  bui'ied 
glory  of  art ;  and  he  discovered  at  a  glance  what  might  be  made  of 
it.  A  mason  would  have  put  it  into  a  stone  wall ;  a  carman  would 
have  used  it  for  filling  in,  or  to  grade  the  streets;  but  he  trans- 
formed it  into  a  creation  of  genius,  and  gave  it  a  value  for  ages  to 
come." 

"  There 's  a  good  time  coming,  boys, 

A  good  time  coming  : 
We  may  not  live  to  see  the  day, 
But  earth  shall  glisten  in  the  ray 

Of  the  good  time  coming. 
Cannon  balls  may  aid  the  tnith, 

But  thought's  a  weapon  stronger; 
We  '11  win  our  battle  by  its  aid  ; — 
Wait  a  little  longer." 


DESCRIPTION.  25 

Examples  of  Description. 

"  How  sweet  the  moonliglit  sleeps  upon  this  bank  ! 
Here  we  will  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears :  soft  stillness,  and  the  night, 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 

.     . :  look,  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patens  of  bright  gold  ! 
There 's  not  the  smallest  orb,  which  thou  behold'st. 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings  : 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls  !  " 

Oh,  green  was  the  corn  as  I  rode  on  my  way, 
And  bright  were  the  dews  on  the  blossoms  of  May, 
And  dark  was  the  sycamore's  shade  to  behold. 
And  the  oak's  tender  leaf  was  of  onierakl  and  gold. 

The  tlii'ush  from  his  holly,  the  lark  from  his  cloud. 
Their  chorus  of  rapture  sang  jovial  and  loud  ; 
From  the  soft  vernal  sky  to  the  soft  grassy  ground. 
There  was  beauty  above  me,  beneath,  and  around. 

The  mild  southern  breeze  brought  a  shower  from  the  hill ! 

And  yet,  though  it  left  me  all  dripping  and  chill, 

I  felt  a  new  pleasure  as  onward  I  sped. 

To  gaze  where  the  rainbow  gleamed  broad  overhead. 

Oh,  such  be  Life's  journey,  and  such  be  our  s";ill. 

To  lose  in  its  blessings  the  sense  of  its  ill ; 

Through  sunshine  and  shower  may  our  ju'ogress  be  even. 

And  our  tears  add  a  charm  to  the  prospect  of  Heaven. 

— Bishoj)  HeMr. 

Beautiful  was  the  niglit.     Beliiiid  (lie  ] thick  wall  of  (he  foi-est, 

Tipping  its  summit  with  silver,  arose  the  moon  on  the  river, 

Fell  here  and  th,ero,  through  the  branches,  a  tremulous  gleam  of  the 

mo(,>nlight. 
Like  the  sweet  thoughts  of  love  on  u  darkened  and  devious  spirit. 

— LowjJ'ellow. 


26  ELOCUTION. 

The  barge  slie  sat  in,  like  a  burnished  tlu-one, 

Burned  on  the  water :  the  poop  was  beaten  gold  ; 

Purple  the  sails,  and  so  perfumed,  that 

The  winds  were  lovesick  with  them  :  the  oars  were  silver ; 

Which  to  the  tune  of  flutes  kept  stroke,  and  made 

The  water,  which  they  beat,  to  follow  faster, 

As  amoi'ous  of  their  strokes.     For  her  own  person, 

It  beggar'd  all  description ;  she  did  lie 

In  her  pavilion — cloth  of  gold  and  tissue — 

O'er-picturing  that  Venus,  where  we  see, 

The  fancy  out-work  nature :  on  each  side  her 

Stood  pretty  dunpled  boys,  like  smiling  Cupids, 

With  diverse-colour'd  fans,  whose  wind  did  seem 

To  glow  the  delicate  cheeks  which  they  did  cool, 

Aud  what  they  undid,  did. — Shakespeare.. 

And  I  saw  a  great  white  throne,  and  Him  that  sat  on  it,  from 
whose  face  the  earth  and  the  heaven  fled  away ;  and  there  was 
found  no  place  for  them. — Bible. 

"  And  what  is  so  rare  as  a  day  in  June  ? 
Then,  if  ever,  come  perfect  days ; 
Then  Heaven  tries  the  earth  if  it  be  in  tune, 
And  over  it  softly  her  warm  ear  lays ; 
Whether  we  look,  or  whether  we  listen. 
We  hear  life  mui'mur,  or  see  it  glisten ; 
Every  clod  feels  a  stir  of  might, 
An  instinct  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers, 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light. 
Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers ; 
The  little  bird  sits  at  his  door  in  the  sun, 
Atilt  like  a  blossom  among  the  leaves, 
And  lets  his  illumined  being  o'errun 
AVith  the  deluge  of  summer  it  I'eceives." 

"A  merrier  man, 
Within  the  limit  of  becoming  mirth, 
I  never  spent  an  hour's  talk  withal : 
His  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit; 


DESCRIPTION.  27 

For  eveiy  object  that  the  oue  doth  catch, 
The  other  turns  to  a  inlrth-niovlng  jest, 
Which  his  fair  tongue  (conceit's  expositor) 
Delivers  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words, 
That  aged  ears  play  truant  at  his  tales, 
And  younger  hearings  are  quite  ravished, 
So  sweet  and  voluble  is  his  discoui'se." 

The  lunatic,  the  lover,  and  the  poet 

Are  of  imagination  all  compact : 

One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold, — 

That  is,  the  madman ;  the  lover,  all  as  frantic, 

Sees  Helen's  beauty  in  a  brow  of  Egypt ; 

The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 

Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven ; 

And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  fonns  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name. — Shakespeare. 

THE   BKOOK. 

I  come  from  haunts  of  coot  and  hern ; 

I  make  a  sudden  sally. 
And  sparlde  out  among  the  fern 

To  bicker  down  a  valley. 

By  thirty  hills  I  hurry  down. 
Or  slip  between  the  ridges ; 
By  twenty  thorps,  a  little  town, 
And  lialf  a  hundred  bridge.j. 

With  many  a  curve  my  banks  I  fret. 

By  many  a  field  and  fallow, 
And  many  a  fairy  foreland  set 

With  willow-weed  and  malljw. 

I  chatter,  chatter  as  I  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river ; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

But  I  go  on  forever. 


28  ELOCUTION. 

I  wind  about,  and  in  and  out, 

With  here  a  blossom  sailing. 
And  here  and  there  a  lusty  trout, 

And  here  and  there  a  grayling. 

I  steal  by  lawns  and  grassy  plots, 

I  slide  by  hazel  covers, 
I  move  the  sweet  forget-me-nots 

That  grow  for  happy  lovers. 

I  slip,  I  slide,  I  gloom,  I  glance. 
Among  my  skimming  swallows ; 

I  make  the  netted  sunbeam  dance 
Against  my  sandy  shallows. 

I  murmur  under  moon  and  stars 

In  brambly  wildernesses ; 
I  linger  by  my  shingly  bai'S, 

I  loiter  round  my  cresses. 

And  out  again  I  curve  and  flow 

To  join  the  brimming  river  ; 
For  men  may  come  and  men  may  go. 

But  I  go  on  forever. 

— Alfred  Tennyson, 

You  bells  in  the  steeple,  ring,  ring  out  your  changes, 

How  many  soever  they  be, 
And  let  the  brown  meadow-lark's  note  as  he  ranges 

Come  over,  come  over  to  me. 

Yet  birds'  clearest  carol  by  fall  or  by  swelling 
»  No  magical  sense  conveys, 

And  bells  have  forgotten  their  old  art  of  teUing 
The  fortune  of  future  days. 

"  Turn  again,  turn  again,"  once  they  rang  cheerily, 
While  a  boy  listened  alone  : 
Made  his  lieart  yearn  again,  nuising  so  wearily 
All  by  himself  on  a  stone. 


NARRATION.  29 

Poor  bells  !  I  forgive  you  ;  your  good  days  are  over, 

And  mine, — they  are  yet  to  be  ; 
No  listening,  no  longing,  shall  aught,  aught  discover : 

You  leave  the  story  to  me. — Jean  Ingelow. 


Example  of  Narration. 

THE    VISION   OF    MIEZAH. 

On  the  fifth  day  of  the  moon,  which,  according  to  the  custom  of 
my  forefathers,  I  always  keep  holy,  after  having  washed  myself 
and  offered  up  my  morning  devotions,  I  ascended  the  high  hill  of 
Bagdat,  in  order  to  pass  the  rest  of  the  day  in  meditation  and 
prayer. 

As  I  was  here  airing  myself  on  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  I  fell 
into  a  profound  contemplation  on  the  vanity  of  human  life ;  and, 
passing  from  one  thought  to  another,  Surely,  said  I,  man  is  but  a 
shadow  and  life  a  dream. 

Whilst  I  was  thus  musing,  I  cast  my  eyes  towards  the  summit  of 
a  rock  that  was  not  far  from  me,  where  I  discovered  one  in  the 
habit  of  a  shepherd,  with  a  musical  instrument  in  his  hand.  As  I 
looked  upon  him,  he  applied  it  to  his  lips  and  began  to  play  upon  it. 

The  sound  of  it  was  exceedingly  sweet,  and  wrought  into  a  variety 
of  tones  that  were  inexpressibly  melodious,  and  altogether  different 
from  anything  I  had  ever  heard.  They  i)ut  me  in  mind  of  those 
heavenly  airs  that  are  jjlayed  to  the  departed  soiUs  of  good  men 
upon  their  first  arrival  in  Paradise,  to  wear  out  the  im])ression  of 
their  last  agonies  and  (qualify  them  for  the  jjleasures  of  that  hap])y 
place.     My  heart  melted  away  in  secret  raptures. 

I  had  often  been  told  that  the  rock  before  me  was  the  haunt  of  a 
Genius,  and  that  several  had  been  entertained  with  nmsic  who  had 
passed  by  it,  but  never  heard  that  the  musician  had  before  made 
himself  visible.  When  he  had  raised  my  thoughts,  by  those  trans- 
porting airs  which  he  played,  to  taste  the  pleasures  of  his  conversa- 
tion, as  I  looked  upon  him  like  one  astonished,  he  beckoned  to  me, 
and  by  the  waving  of  his  hand  directed  me  to  approach  the  place 
where  he  sat. 

I  drew  near,  with  that  reverence  which  is  due  to  a  superior  nature. 
And,  as  my  heart  was  entirely  subdued  by  the  captivating  strains 


30  ELOCUTION. 

I  had  heard,  I  fell  down  at  his  feet  and  wept.  The  Genius  smiled 
upon  me  with  a  look  of  compassion  that  familiarized  him  to  my 
imagination,  and  at  once  dispelled  the  fears  with  which  I  approached 
him. 

He  lifted  me  from  the  ground,  and  taking  me  hy  the  hand, — 

"'Mirzah,"  said  he,  "I  have  heard  thee  in  thy  soliloquies.  Fol- 
low me." 

He  then  led  me  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  the  rock,  and  placing 
me  on  the  top  of  it, — 

''  Cast  thy  eyes  eastward,"  said  he,  "  and  tell  me  what  thou 
seest." 

"  I  see,"  said  I,  "  a  huge  valley,  and  a  prodigious  tide  of  water 
rolling  through  it." 

"  The  valley  that  thou  seest  is  the  Vale  of  Misery,  and  the  tide 
of  water  is  part  of  the  great  tide  of  eternity." 

"What  is  the  reason,"  said  I,  "that  the  tide  rises  out  of  a  thick 
mist  at  one  end,  and  loses  itself  in  a  thick  mist  on  the  other  ?  " 

"  What  thou  seest,"  said  he,  "  is  that  portion  of  eternity  called 
time,  measured  out  by  the  sun,  and  reaching  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world  to  its  consummation." 

"I  see  a  bridge,"  said  I,  "standing  in  the  midst  of  the  tide." 

"The  bridge  thou  seest,"  said  he,  "is  human  life.  Consider  it 
attentively." 

Upon  a  more  leisurely  survey  of  it,  I  found  that  it  consisted  of 
threescore  and  ten  arches,  with  several  broken  arches,  which,  added 
to  those  that  were  entire,  made  up  the  number  about  a  hundred. 
As  I  was  counting  the  arches,  the  Genius  told  me  that  this  bridge 
consisted  at  first  of  a  thousand  arches,  but  that  a  great  flood  swept 
away  the  rest,  and  left  the  bridge  in  the  ruinous  condition  I  now 
beheld  it. 

"  But  tell  me  further,"  said  he,  "  what  thou  discoverest  on  it." 

"  I  see  multitudes  of  people  passing  over  it,  and  a  black  cloud  on 
each  end." 

As  I  looked  more  attentively  I  saw  several  of  the  passengers 
drojiping  through  the  bridge  into  the  great  tide  that  flowed  under- 
neath; and,  upon  further  examination,  perceived  that  there  were 
innumerable  tra])-doors  that  lay  concealed  in  the  bridge,  which  the 
passengers  no  sooner  trod  upon  but  they  fell  through  them  into  the 
tide  and  immediately  disappeared.     These  hidden  pitfalls  were  set 


NARRATION.  31 

very  thick  at  the  entrance  of  the  bridge,  so  that  throngs  of  people 
no  sooner  broke  through  the  cloud  but  many  of  them  fell  into  them. 
There  were  indeed  some,  but  their  number  was  small,  that  strug- 
gled along  on  the  broken  arches ;  but  thej"^,  too,  fell  through,  one 
after  another,  being  tired  and  spent  with  so  long  a  walk. 

My  heart  was  filled  with  a  deep  melancholy  to  see  several  drop- 
ping unexpectedly  in  the  midst  of  mirth  and  jollity,  and  catching 
at  everything  that  stood  by  to  save  themselves.  Some  were  look- 
ing up  towards  the  heavens  in  a  thoughtful  posture.  Multitudes 
were  busy  in  the  pursuit  of  lnil)bles  that  glittered  in  their  eyes  and 
danced  before  them ;  but  when  they  thought  themselves  within 
reach  of  them  their  footing  failed,  and  dov.'n  they  sank. 

"Take  thine  eyes  off  the  bridge,"  said  the  Genius,  "and  tell  me 
if  thou  yet  seest  anytliing  thou  dost  not  comprehend." 

Upon  looking  up,  "What  mean,"  said  I,  "those  great  flights  of 
birds  that  are  hovering  about  the  bridge  and  settling  upon  it  from 
time  to  time?  I  see  vultures,  harpies,  ravens,  cormorants,  and 
many  other  feathered  creatures,  and  several  little  winged  boys,  that 
perch  in  great  numbers  upon  the  middle  arches." 

"  These,"  said  the  Genius,  "  are  envy,  avarice,  superstition, 
despair,  love,  with  the  like  cares  and  passions  that  infest  human 
life." 

"Alas !  "  said  I,  "  man  was  made  in  vain !  How  is  he  given 
away  to  misery  and  mortality, — tortured  in  life  and  swallowed  up 
in  death ! " 

"  Look  no  more,"  said  the  Genius,  "  on  man  in  the  first  stage  of 
his  existence,  in  his  setting  out  for  eternity ;  but  cast  thine  eye  on 
that  thick  mist  into  which  the  tide  bears  the  several  generations  of 
mortals  that  fall  into  it." 

I  directed  my  sight  as  I  was  ordered,  and  saw  the  valley  open- 
ing at  the  farther  end,  and  spreading  forth  into  an  immense  ocean 
that  had  a  huge  rock  of  adamant  running  through  the  midst  of  it 
and  dividing  it  into  two  equal  parts.  The  clouds  still  rested  on  one 
half  of  it.  The  other  a])iieared  to  me  a  vast  ocean,  planted  with 
innumerable  islands  that  were  covered  with  fruits  and  flowers,  and 
intci'wovcn  with  a  thousand  little  shining  seas  that  ran  among 
them.  I  could  see  persons  dressed  in  glowing  habits,  and  could 
hear  a  confused  harmony  of  singing  birds,  falling  waters,  human 
voices,  and  musical  instruments.     Gladness  grew  in  me  upon  the 


32  ELOCUTION. 

discovery  of  so  delightful  a  scene.  I  wished  for  the  wings  of  an 
eagle  that  I  might  fly  away  to  those  hajipy  seats,  but  the  Genius 
told  me  there  was  no  passage  to  them  except  through  the  gates  of 
death  that  I  saw  opening  every  moment  upon  the  bridge. 

"The  islands,"  said  ho,  "that  lie  so  fresh  and  green  before  thee, 
and  with  which  the  whole  face  of  the  ocean  appears  spotted  as  far 
as  thou  canst  see,  are  more  in  number  than  the  sands  on  the  sea- 
shore. There  are  myriads  of  islands  behind  those,  reaching  far- 
ther than  thine  eye  or  even  thine  imagination  can  extend  itself. 
These  are  the  mansions  of  good  men  after  death,  who,  according 
to  the  degree  and  kind  of  virtue  in  which  they  excelled,  are  dis- 
tributed among  these  islands  which  abound  with  pleasures  of  dif- 
ferent kinds  and  degrees.  Every  island  is  a  paradise  accommo- 
dated to  its  respective  inhabitants.  Are  not  these,  O  Mirzah,  hab- 
itations worth  contending  for?  Does  life  appear  miserable  that 
gives  the  opportunities  of  earning  such  a  reward  ?  Is  death  to  be 
feared  that  will  convey  thee  to  so  hapjjy  an  existence  ?  Think  not 
man  was  made  in  vain  who  has  such  an  eternity  before  him." 

A7lO?l. 

OROTUND. 

The  Orotund  tone  is  round  and  full,  and  may  be  said  to  be 
the  maximum  of  the  Pure  Quality. 

It  has  clearness,  strength,  smoothness,  and  musical  quality, 
which  form  the  highest  perfection  of  the  human  voice. 
It  was  called  "  ore  rotunda  "  by  the  poet  Horace,  when 
referring  to  the  flowing  eloquence  of  the  Greeks.  It  is 
used  to  express  Awe,  Reverence,  Sublimity,  Grandeur, 
and  Courage, — also  Pathos  and  Strong  Emotion. 


Standard  Quality  Calling  Tone. 

"  Now  for  the  fight !     Now  for  the  cannon  peal ! 

Forward, — through  blood,  and  toil,  and  cloud,  and  fii-e ! 
Glorious  the  shout,  the  shock,  the  clash  of  steel, 

The  volley's  roll,  the  rocket's  blasting  spire  ! 

They  shake!  like  broken  waves  their  squares  retire! 


OROTUND.  33 

On  them,  hussars  !      Now  give  them  rein  and  heel ; 

Tliink  of  the  orphaned  chihl,  the  murdered  sire — 
Earth  cries  for  blood  !     In  thunder  on  them  wheel ! 
This  hour  to  Europe's  fate  shall  set  the  trimnph  seal ! " 

"  Hark  to  the  bugle's  roundelay ! 
Boot  and  saddle  !     Up  and  away  ! 
Mount  and  ride  as  ye  ne'er  rode  before ; 
Spui"  up  till  your  horses'  flanks  run  gore ! 
Ride  for  the  sake  of  hiunan  lives ; 
Ride  as  ye  would  were  your  sisters  and  wives 
Cowering  under  their  scalping-knives. 
Boot  and  saddle  !     Away,  away!  " 

"  The  war  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 
Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale, 

And  Stanley  !  was  the  cry  ; 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye  : 
With  dying  hand  above  his  head 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  "  Victoiy  !  " — 
Charge,  Chester,  charge  !     On,  Stanley,  on ! 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion." 


"O'Bi'ien's  voice  is  hoarse  with  joy,  as,  halting,  he  commands 

'Fix  bay'nets — charge!'     Like   mountain-storm   rush   on   these  fiery 

bands. 
On  Fontenoy,  on  Foiitcnoy!  liark  to  that  fierce  huzza! 
'Kevenge!  remember  Limerick!  dash  down  the  Sasscnn,<i;li! ' 
Like  lions  leapin<r  at  a  fold  wlien  mad  with  hunger's  i)ang, 
Right  up  against  the  Ent^lisli  line;  the  Iiish  exiles  s])rang. 
The  English  strove  with  desperate  strength,  paused,  rallied,  staggered, 

fled: 
The  green  hill-side  is  matted  close  witli  dyinjj;  and  wiMi  dead. 
On  Fontenoy,  on  Funtcnoy,  like  ea<rU's  in  tiic  sun, 
With  bloody  plumes  the  Irish  stand:  the  Held  is  lought  and  won." 

"  Now,  men  !  now  is  your  time  ! 
Make  ready  !  take  aim  !  fire !  " 
3 


84  ELOCUTION. 

"  An  hour  passed  on  ; — the  Turk  awoke  ; — 

That  bright  dream  was  his  last ; — 
He  woke  to  hear  his  sentry  shriek 

'  To  arms  !     They  come  !     The  Greek  !     The  Greek  !  ' 
He  woke — to  die  midst  flame  and  smoke. 
And  shout,  and  gi*oan,  and  sabre-stroke, 

And  death-shots  falling-  thick  and  fast 
As  lightnings  from  the  mountain  cloud  ; 
And  heard,  with  voice  as  trumpet  loud, 

Bozzaris  cheer  his  band  ; — 
'  Strike — till  the  last  armed  foe  expires  ! 
Strike — for    your  altars  and  your  fires  ! 
Strike — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires  ! 

God — and  your  native  land  !  '  " 

"  The  combat  deepens.     On  ye  brave, 
Who  rush  to  glory  or  the  griive ! 
Wave,  Munich  !  all  thy  banners  wave, 
And  charge  Avith  all  thy  chivalry  !  " 

"  Thou  slave  !    thou  wretch  !    thou  coward  ! 
Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  villany  I 
Thou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  side  ! 
Thou  Fortune's  champion,  thou  dost  never  fight 
But  Avhen  her  huimorous  ladyship  is  by 
To  teach  thee  safety  !  thou  art  perjm'ed,  too, 
And  sooth'st  up  greatness.     What  a  ihol  art  thou, 
A  ram])ing  fool ;  to  brag,  and  stamp,  and  swear 
Upon  my  party  !     Thou  cold-blooded  slave, 
Hast  thou  not  spoken  like  thunder  on  my  side  ? 
Been  sworn  my  soldier  !  bidding  me  dejiend 
Upon  thy  stars,  thy  fortune,  and  thy  strength? 
And  dost  thou  now  fall  over  to  my  foes  ? 
Thou  wear  a  lion's  hide  !  doff  it  for  shame. 
And  hang  a  calf's  skin  on  those  recreant  limbs." 

I  "  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade  ! 

Charge  for  the  guns  !  "  he  said  : 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 
Rode  the  Six  Hundred. 


AWE.  35 

Flashed  all  their  sabres  bare, 
Flashed  as  they  turned  in  air, 
Sabring  the  gunners  there, 
Charging  an  army,  while 
All  the  world  wondered. 

Cannon  to  right  of  them, 
Cannon  to  left  of  them. 
Cannon  in  front  of  them, 

Volleyed  and  thundered. 
Stormed  at  with  shot  and  shell. 
Boldly  they  rode,  and  well. 

They  that  had  fought  so  well 
Came  through  the  jaws  of  Death 
Back  from  the  mouth  of  hell, 
All  that  was  left  of  them, 
Left  of  Six  Hundred. 

When  can  their  glory  fade  ? 
Oh,  the  wild  charge  they  made  ! 

All  the  world  wondered. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made  ! 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade, 

Noble  .Six  Hundred. — Tennyson. 

Examples  of  Awe. 

*'  Silence,  how  dead  !  darkness,  how  profound  ! 
No  eye,  nor  listening  ear  an  object  finds : 
Creation  sleeps.     'T  is  as  the  general  pulse 
Of  life  stood  still,  and  Nature  made  a  pause, — 
An  awful  jiause  !  proi)hetic  of  her  end." 

I  had  a  dream  which  was  not  all  a  dream  : 

The  bright  sun  was  extinguished ;  and  the  stars 

Did  wander  darkling  in  the  eternal  sj)ace, 

Rayless  and  jiathless ;  and  the  icy  earth 

Swung  blind  and  blackening  in  the  moonless  air ; 

Morn  came,  and  went, — and  came,  and  brought  no  day. 

— BtjvDn. 


36  ELOCUTION. 

And  I  beheld  when  he  had  opened  the  sixth  seal,  and  lo !  there 
was  a  great  earthquake.  And  the  sun  became  black,  and  the  moon 
became  as  blood  ;  and  the  stars  of  heaven  fell  unto  the  earth.  And 
the  heavens  departed  as  a  scroll.  And  every  mountain  and  island 
were  moved  out  of  theii  places.  And  the  kings  of  the  earth,  and 
the  mighty  men,  and  every  bondman,  and  every  freeman,  hid 
themselves,  and  cried  to  the  rocks  and  mountains  to  fall  on  them 
and  hide  them  from  the  face  of  Him  that  sitteth  uj)on  the  throne. 

—Bible. 

He  bowed  the  heavens  also,  and  came  down ;  and  darkness  was 
nnder  His  feet.  He  made  darkness  His  secret  place.  His  pavilion 
round  about  Him  were  dark  waters  and  thick  clouds  of  the  skies. 

—Bible. 

But  at  midnight, — strange,  mystic  hour ! — when  the  veil  between 
the  frail  present  and  the  eternal  future  grows  thin, — then  came 
the  messenger ! — Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

"  Oh !  I  have  passed  a  miserable  night, 
So  fuU  of  fearf id  dreams,  of  ugly  sights, 
That,  as  I  am  a  Christian  faitlif id  man, 
I  woidd  not  spend  another  such"  a  night, 
Though  't  were  to  buy  a  world  of  hajipy  days ; 
So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time ! 

My  dream  was  lengthened  after  life  : — 

Oh !  then  began  the  tempest  to  my  soid  ! — 
With  that,  methought,  a  legion  of  foul  fiends 
Environed  me,  and  howled  in  mine  ears 
Such  hideous  cries,  that,  with  the  very  noise, 
I  trembling  waked,  and,  for  a  season  after, 
Could  not  believe  but  that  I  was  in  hell ; 
Such  terrible  impression  made  my  dream !  " 

"Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place  in  all  generations. 
Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or  ever  thou  hadst  formed 
the  earth  and  the  world,  even  from  everlasting  to  everlasting,  thou 
art  God." 


REVERENCE.  37 

*'  Thou  breatliest ; — and  the  obedient  storm  is  still : 

Thou  speakest ; — silent  the  submissive  wave : 
Man's  shattered  ship  the  rushing  waters  fill ; 

And  the  hushed  billows  roll  across  his  grave. 
Sourceless  and  endless  God !   compared  with  Thee, 

Life  is  a  shadowy,  momentary  dream; 
And  time,  when  viewed  through  Thy  eternity, 

Less  than  the  mote  of  morning's  golden  beam." 

*'  It  thimders !     Sons  of  dust,  in  rev'rence  bow ! 
Ancient  of  Days  I  thou  speakest  from  above. 
Almighty  !  trembling  like  a  timid  cliild, 
I  hear  thy  awful  voice.  i 

Examples  of  Reverence. 

"  Father  !  Thy  hand 
Hath  reared  these  venerable  columns  ;  Thou 
Didst  weave  this  verdant  roof.     Thou  didst  look  down 
Upon  the  naked  earth,  and  forthwith  rose 
All  these  fair  ranks  of  trees.     They  in  Thy  sun 
Budded,  and  shook  their  green  leaves  in  Thy  breeze, 
And  shot  towards  heaven.     The  century-living  crow. 
Whose  birth  was  in  their  tops,  grew  old  and  died 
Among  their  branches,  till,  at  last,  they  stood, 
As  now  they  stand,  massy,  and  tall,  and  dark, — 
Fit  shrine  for  luunble  worshi])per  to  hold 
Communion  with  his  Maker  !  " 

*'  Oh,  listen,  man ! 
A  voice  within  us  speaks  that  startling  word, 
'Man,  thou  shalt  never  die  ! '     Celestial  voices 
Hymn  it  unto  our  souls ;  according  harps. 
By  angel  fingers  touched,  when  the  mild  stars 
Of  morning  sang  together,  sound  forth  stQl 
14ie  song  of  our  great  immortality.  " 

And  you,  ye  storms,  howl  out  his  greatness !     Let  your  thunders 
roll  like  drums   in   the    march    of  the  God  of  armies !     Let  your 


38  ELOCUTION. 

lightnings  write  his  name  in  fire  on  the  midnight  darkness ;  let  the 
illimitable  void  of  space  become  one  mouth  for  song ;  and  let  the 
unnavigated  ether,  through  its  shoreless  depths,  bear  through  the 
infinite  remote  the  name  of  him  whose  goodness  endureth  forever ! 

— Spurgeon. 

MILTON' S   INVOCATION   OF   LIGHT. 

"Hail!  holy  light, — offspring  of  heaven,  first-born, 
Or  of  the  eternal  coeternal  beam 
May  I  exjDress  thee  unblamed  ?  since  God  is  light, 
And  never  but  in  unapproached  light, 
Dwelt  from  eternity, — dwelt  then  in  thee. 
Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate ! 
Or  hear'st  thou,  rather,  pure  ethereal  stream, 
Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell  ? — Before  the  sun, 
Before  the  heavens  thou  wert,  and,  at  the  voice 
Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle  didst  invest 
The  rising  world  of  waters,  dark  and  deej), 
Won  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite." 

"  Deep  calleth  unto  deep.     And  what  are  we 
That  hear  the  question  of  that  voice  sublime  ? 
Oh !  what  are  all  the  notes  that  ever  rung 
From  war's  vain  trumpet,  by  thy  thundering  side  ? 
Yea,  what  is  all  the  riot  man  can  make 
In  his  short  life,  to  thy  unceasing  roar  ? 
And  yet,  bold  babbler,  what  art  thou  to  Him 
Who  di'own'd  a  world,  and  heaped  the  waters  far 
Above  its  loftiest  mountains  ?     A  light  wave, 
That  breaks,  and  whispers  of  its  Maker's  might." 

My  heart  is  awed  witliin  me,  when  I  think 
Of  the  great  miracle  that  still  goes  on. 
In  silence,  round  me, — the  perpetual  work 
Of  thy  creation,  finished,  yet  renewed 
Forever.     Written  on  thy  works,  I  read 
The  lesson  of  thy  own  eternity. — Bryant. 


SUBLIMITY.     .  39 

Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul !  O  Lord,  my  God,  Thou  art  very 
great ;  Thou  art  clothed  with  honor  and  majesty  ;  who  coverest 
Thyself  with  light  as  with  a  garment ;  who  stretchest  out  the  heavens 
like  a  curtain ;  who  layeth  the  beams  of  His  chambers  in  the 
waters ;  who  maketh  the  clouds  his  chariot ;  who  walketh  upon  the 
wings  of  the  wind ;  who  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth,  that  it 
should  not  be  removed  forever. — Bible. 

"  As  some  taU  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale  and  midway  leaves  the  storm. 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  en  its  head." — Goldsmith. 

Examples  of  Sublimity. 

This  goodly  frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a  sterile  promontory, 
this  most  excellent  canopy,  the  air,  look  you,  tliis  brave, 
o'erhanging  firmament,  this  majestical  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire, 
why,  it  appears  no  other  thing  to  me  than  a  foul  and  pestilent  con- 
gi-egation  of  vapors.  What  a  jjiece  of  work  is  man!  how  noble  in 
reason !  how  infinite  in  faculty  !  in  form  and  moving  how  express 
and  admirable  !  in  action  how  like  an  angel !  in  apjirehension  how 
like  a  god  ! — Shakespeare. 

What  is  man,  that  Thou  art  mindfid  of  him  ?  and  the  son  of  man, 
that  Thou  visitest  him  ? 

For  Thou  hast  made  him  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  and  hast 
crowned  him  with  glory  and  konor. — Bible. 

And,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  dream. 
The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself. 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve. 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded. 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.     AVe  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. — Shakespeare. 

O  Lord,  our  Lord,  how  excellent  is  Thy  name  in  all  the  earth, 
who  hast  set  Thy  glory  above  tiie  heavens. — Bible. 


40  ELOCUTION. 

Thou,  from  primeval  notliingness,  didst  call 

First  chaos,  then  existence  : — Lord  !  on  thee 

Eternity  had  its  fomidation  ; — all 

Sprung  forth  from  Thee, — of  light,  joy,  harmony, 

Sole  origin : — all  life,  all  beauty  thine. 

Thy  word  created  all,  and  doth  create  ; 

Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  with  rays  divine. 

Thou  art,  and  wert,  and  shalt  be !   Glorious  !    gi'eat ! 

Light-giving,  life-sustaining  Potentate  ! — Milton. 

Hast  thou  a  charm  to  stay  the  morning  star 
In  his  steep  course  ?  so  long  he  seems  to  pause 
On  thy  bald  awful  head,  O  sovran  Blanc  ! 
The  Arv^  and  Arveiron  at  thy  base 
Rave  ceaselessly,     .... 

.     thou,  O  silent  mountain,  sole  and  bare, 
O  blacker  than  the  darkness,  all  the  night. 
And  visited  all  niglit  by  troops  of  stars, — 
Or  when  they  climb  the  sky,  or  when  they  sink, — 
Companion  of  the  morning  star,  at  dawn. 
Thyself  earth's  rosy  star,  and  of  the  dawn 
Co-herald  !  wake,  oh  !  wake,  and  utter  praise  I — Coleridge. 

So  live,  that,  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  that  moves 
To  that  mysterious  realm,  where  each  shall  take 
His  chamber  in  the  silent  hall  of  deatl|, 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry -slave  at  night. 
Scourged  to  his  dimgeon  ;  but,  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave. 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams. — Bryant. 

"  Sink,  O  Night,  among  thy  mountains  I    let  tlie  cool,  gray  shadows 

faU; 
Dying  brothers,  fighting  demons — drop  thy  curtain  over  all ! 
Through    the    thickening   winter    twilight,    wide    a])art    the    battle 

rolled. 
In  its  sheath  the  sabre  rested,  and  the  cannon's  lips  grew  cold. 


GRANDEUR.  41 

Not  wholly  lost,  0  Fathei- !  is  this  evil  world  of  ours  ; 

Upward,  through   its   blood    and    ashes,   spring    afresh    the    Eden 

flowers  ; 
From  its  smoking  hell  of  battle,  Love  and  Pity  send    their   prayer, 
And  still  thy  white-winged  angels  hover  dimly  in  our  air !  " 

Examples  of  Grandeur. 

I  had  a  dream  which  was  not  all  a  dream : 

The  bright  sun  was  extinguished  ;  and  the  stars 

Did  wander  darkling  in  the  eternal  space, 

Rayless  and  pathless  ;  and  the  icy  earth 

Swimg  blind  and  blackening  in  the  moonless  air  ; 

Morn  came,  and  went, — and  came,  and  brouglit  no  day. 

The  world  was  void  : 
The  popvdous  and  the  powerful  was  a  lumj), — 
Seasonless,  herbless,  treeless,  manless,  lifeless, — 
A  hmip  of  death — a  chaos  of  hard  clay. 
The  rivers,  lakes,  and  ocean  all  stood  still ; 
A  nothing  stirred  within  their  silent  depths. 
Ships  sailorless  lay  rotting  on  the  sea. 
And  their  masts  fell  down  ])iece-meal ;  as  they  dropped 
They  slept  u2:>on  the  abyss  without  a  surge  ; — 
The  waves  were  dead  ;  the  tides  were  in  iheir  grave  ; 
The  moon,  their  mistress,  had  expired  l)efore  ; 
The  winds  were  withered  in  the  stagnant  air ; 
And  the  clouds  perished  ;  darkness  had  no  need 
Of  aid  from  them, — she  was  the  universe. — Byron. 

Thy  word  created  all,  and  doth  create ; 
Thy  splendor  fills  all  space  witli  rays  divine. 
Thou  art,  and  wert,  and  shalt  be  !    Glorious  !    great ! 
Light-giving,  life-sustaining  Potentate  ! 

— BovirliKj. 

Now  storming  fury  rose. 
And  clamor  such  as  heard  in  Heaven  till  now 
Was  never  ;  arms  on  ai-mor  clashing  biayed 
Horrible  discord,  and  the  mackling  wheels 


42  ELOCUTION. 

Of  brazen  chariots  raged ;  dire  was  the  noise 
Of  conflict ;  over-head  the  dismal  hiss 
Of  fiery  darts  in  flaming  volleys  flow, 
And  flying  vaulted  either  host  with  fire. 
So  under  fiery  cope  together  rushed 
Both  battles  main,  with  ruinous  assault 
And  inextinguishable  rage  ;  all  Heaven 
Resounded ;  and,  had  earth  been  then,  all  earth 
Had  to  her  centre  shook. — Milton. 

Eternity  ! — tbou  pleasing, — dreadful  thought! 

Tlirough  what  variety  of  untried  being, 

Through  wliat  new  scenes  and  changes  must  we  pass ! 

The  wide,  the  unbounded  prospect  lies  before  me  ; 

But  shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness  rest  upon  it. — Addison. 

'T  is  midnight's  holy  hour, — and  silence  now 

Is  brooding  like  a  gentle  spirit  o'er 

The  still  and  jjulseless  world.     Hark !  on  the  winds 

The  bell's  deep  tones  are  swelling :   't  is  the  knell 

Of  the  departed  year. — Geo.  D.  Frentice. 

Your  sorrows,  O  people,  are  his  peace!  Your  bells,  and  bands, 
and  muffled  drums  sound  triumph  in  his  ear.  AVail  and  weep 
here  !     Pass  on  ! — Beecher. 

My  father's  spirit  in  arms !  all  is  not  well  ; 
I  doubt  some  foul  play  :  would  the  night  were  come  ! 
Till  then,  sit  still,  my  soul.     Foul  deeds  will  rise, 
Though  all  the  earth  o'erwhelm  them,  to  men's  eyes. 

— Shakespeare. 

In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the  night,  when  deep  sleep 
falleth  on  men,  fear  came  upon  me,  and  trend)ling,  which  made  all 
my  bones  to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my  face  ;  the  hair 
of  my  flesh  stood  up  :  it  stood  still,  but  I 'could  not  discern  the  form 
thereof :  an  image  was  before  mine  eyes  :  there  was  silence,  and  I 
heard  a  voice,  saying.  Shall  mortal  man  be  more  just  than  God  ? 
Shall  a  man  be  more  pure  than  his  maker  ? — Bible. 


COUEAGE.  43 


Examples  of  Courage. 

Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fates : 

The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 

But  in  oiu'selves,  that  we  are  imderlings. 

Brutus,  and  Caesar :   What  should  he  in  that  Csesar  ? 

Why  should  that  name  be  sounded  more  than  yours  ? 

Oh!  you. and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say 

There  was  a  Brutus  once,  that  would  have  brook'd 

The  eternal  devil  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome, 

As  easily  as  a  king. — Shakespeare. 

Come  one,  come  all ! — this  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I. — Scott. 

A  thousand  hearts  Ave  great  within  my  bosom. 
Advance  our  standards  I   set  upon  our  foes ! 
Our  ancient  word  of  courage,  fair  Saint  George, 
Inspire  us  Avith  the  spleen  of  fiery  dragons ! 

Upon  them !    Victory  sits  on  our  helms  ! 
Slave !  I  have  set  my  life  upon  a  cast. 
And  I  will  stand  the  hazard  of  the  die. 
I  think  there  be  six  Richmonds  in  the  field  ; 
Five  have  I  slain  to-day,  instead  of  him. — 
A  horse  !  a  horse  !  my  kingdom  for  a  horse  ! 

— Sh'i  Icespeare. 

Strike  till  the  last  armed  foe  expires  ! 
Strike  for  your  altars  and  your  fires  ! 
Strike  for  the  green  graves  of  your  s"res  ! 
God  and  your  native  land  ! — Hailed:. 

O  that  the  slave  had  forly  thousand  lives  ! 
My  great  revenge  had  stomach  for  them  all ! 

— *S'//  akespeare. 

Up  !  comrades,  up  I — in  Rokeby's  halls 
Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls ! — Scott. 


44  ELOCUTION. 

"  Rouse,  ye  Romans  !     Rouse,  ye  slaves  ! 
Have  ye  brave  sons  ?     Look  in  the  next  fierce  brawl 
To  see  them  die.     Have  ye  fair  daughters  ?     Look 
To  see  them  live,  torn  from  your  arms,  distained, 
Dishonored ;  and,  if  ye  dare  to  call  for  justice, 
Be  answered  by  the  lash." 

"  Why,  in  that  elder  day,  to  be  a  Roman 
Was  greater  than  a  king !     And  once  again, — 
Hear  me,  ye  walls,  that  echoed  to  the  tread 
Of  either  Brutus !     Once  again  I  swear, 
The  etei'nal  city  shall  be  free  !  "  ' 

"  Yet,  this  is  Rome, 
That  sat  on  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her  throne 
Of  beauty  ruled  the  world !     Yet  we  are  Romans." 

Macbeth.  If  we  should  fail? 
Lady  Macbeth.  We  fail ! 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking  point, 
And  we  '11  not  fail. 

Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  West ! 

Through  all  the  wide  border  his  steed  was  the  best ; 

And,  save  his  good  broadsword,  he  weapons  had  none ; 

He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 

So  faithfid  in  love,  so  dauntless  in  war. 

There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

—Scott. 

"  The  Bruce — the  Bruce  !  "     To  well  known  cry 

His  native  rocks  and  woods  reply. 

"  The  Bruce — the  Bruce  !  "     In  that  dread  word 

Tlie  knell  of  hundred  deaths  was  heard : 

Two  hundred  yeoman  on  that  morn 

The  castle  left,  and  none  return. 

Again  that  cry,  "The  Bruce — the  Bruce!  " 

No  hope  or  in  defence  or  truce. 

And  fearful  was  the  din ! 

Nor  sunk  the  fearful  cry 


ASPIRATE.  46 


Till  not  a  f oeman  was  there  found 
Alive,  save  those  who  on  the  ground 

Groaned  in  their  agony. 
Then  long  and  loud  the  victor  shout 
From  turret  and  from  tower  rang  out. 
"  The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  hall : 
Rejoice,  brave  friends  and  comrades  all." 


ASPIRATE. 


—ScoU. 


The  Aspirate  is  a  blending  of  the  Colloquial  and  whisper. 
It  gives  the  whispered  utterance  of  secrecy  and  fear. 
It  may  be  called  articulated  breath. 
Pronounced  with  a  breathing,  or  full  emission  of  breath. 

Examples. 

And  the  hridemaidens  whispered,  "  'T  were  better  by  far 
To  have  matched  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar." 

—Scott. 

"  Deep  silence  fell  on  all  around  : 
Through  that  dense  crowd 
Was  heard  no  sound  of  steji  or  word." 

Or  whispering  "  The  foe  !     They  come  !  they  come  '  " 

— Byron. 

To  bed,  to  bed ;  there  's  knocl<ing  at  the  gate. 
Come,  come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand ! 

— Macbeth. 

And  then  we  thought  on  vengeance,  and  all  along  our  van 
"  Remember  Saint  Bartholomew  !  "  was  passed  from  to  man. 

— Macaulay. 

"  Hark !  they  whisper,  angels  say, 
'Sister  spirit,  come  away.'  " 


46  ELOCUTION. 

"  Breathe  it  not  aloud  :  the  wild  winds  must  not  hear  it." 

"  Husli !  hark  !      Did  stealing  steps  go  by  ? 
Come  not  faint  whlsi^ers  near  ?  " 

"  Heard  ye  the  whisper  of  the  breeze, 

As  soft  it  murmured  by 
Amid  the  shadowy  forest  trees? 

It  tells,  with  meaning  sigh, 
Of  the  bovvers  of  bliss  on  that  viewless  shore, 
Where  the  weary  spirit  shall  sin  no  more." 

"  The  loud  wind  dwindled  to  a  whisper  low, 
And  sighed  for  pity  as  it  answered,  '  No.' " 

"The  loud  waves,  rolling  in  perpetual  flow. 
Stopped  for  a  while,  and  sighed  to  ansvrer,  •  No.' " 

"  Hark !  I  hear  the  bugles  of  the  enemy !  They  are  on  their 
march  along  the  bank  of  the  river.  We  must  retreat  instantly,  or 
be  cut  off  from  our  boats.  I  see  the  head  of  their  calumn  already 
rising  over  the  height.  Our  only  safety  is  in  tlie  screen  of  this 
hedge.  Keep  close  to  it :  be  silent,  and  stoop  as  you  run.  For 
the  boats  !     Forward  !  " 

"  Pray  you  tread  softly, — that  the  blind  mole  may  not 
Hear  a  foot-fall :  we  are  now  near  his  cell. 

Speak  softly ! 
All 's  hushed  as  midnight  yet. 

See  'st  thou  liere  ? 
This  is  the  mouth  o'  the  cell :  no  noise !  and  enter." 

ASPIRATED   TONES. 

Aspirated  Tones  are  strongest  emotions  intensified. 

Examples. 

"  Oh  !  horror !  horror !  horror ! — Tongue  nor  heart 
Cannot  conceive,  nor  name  thee  !  " 


ASPIRATED   TONES.  47 

Is  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me, 

The  handle  toward  my  hand  ?     Come,  let  me  clutch  thee  : — 

I  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  thee  still. 

— Macbeth. 

Angels  and  ministers  of  grace,  defend  us ! — 

Be  thou  a  sjjirit  of  health,  or  goblin  damn'd. 

Bring  with  thee  airs  from  heaven,  or  blasts  from  hell. 

Be  thy  intents  wicked,  or  charitable. 

Thou  com'st  in  such  a  questionable  shape, 

That  I  will  speak  to  thee. 

— Hamlet. 

"Hark!  I  hear  the  bugles  of  the  enemy!  They  are  on  their 
march  along  the  bank  of  the  river.  We  must  retreat  instantly,  or 
be  cut  off  from  our  boats.  I  see  the  head  of  their  column  already 
rising  over  the  height.  Our  only  safety  is  in  the  screen  of  this 
hedge.  Keep  close  to  it :  be  silent,  and  stoop  as  you  run.  For 
the  boats  !     Forward  !  " 

'T  is  now  the  very  witching  time  of  night, 

When  church-yards  yawn,  and  hell  itself  breathes  out 

Contagion  to  this  world : — now  could  I  drink  hot  blood, 

And  do  such  bitter  business  as  the  day 

Would  quake  to  look  on. 

— Hamlet. 

"  Confusion  now  hath  made  his  masterpiece  ! 
]\Iost  sacrilegious  murder  liath  broke  o\)e 
Tiie  Lord's  anointed  temple,  and  stole  thence 
The  life  o'  the  building." 

"  Approach  the  chamber,  and  destroy  your  sight 
W  ith  a  new  Gorgon  !  " 

DAGGER    S(;ENE  FROM    MACBETH. 

Is  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me. 

The  handle  toward  my  hand  ?     Come,  let  me  clutch  thee  : — 

I  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  tliee  still. 

Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 

To  feeling,  as  to  sight  ?  or  art  thou  but 


48  ELOCUTioisr. 

A  dagger  of  the  mind,  a  false  creation, 

Proceeding  from  the  heat-oppressed  brain  ? 

I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  paljjahle 

As  this  which  now  I  draw. 

Thou  marshall'st  me  the  way  that  I  was  going ; 

And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use. 

Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'  the  other  senses, 

Or  else  worth  all  the  rest : — I  see  thee  still : 

And  on  thy  blade,  and  dudgeon,  gouts  of  blood, 

Which  was  not  so  before. — There  's  no  such  thing : 

It  is  the  bloody  business  which  informs 

Thus  to  mine  eyes. — Now  o'er  the  one  half  world 

Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse 

The  curtain'd  sleeper  :  witchcraft  celebrates 

Pale  Hecate's  offerings ;  and  wither'd  murder, 

Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel  the  wolf. 

Whose  howl 's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 

With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  toward  his  design 

Moves  like  a  ghost. — Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth. 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 

The  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout. 

And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 

Which  now  suits  with  it.     Whiles  I  threat,  he  lives : 

Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives. 

I  go,  and  it  is  done :  the  bell  invites  me. 

Hear  it  not,  Duncan  ;  for  it  is  a  kneU 

That  summons  thee  to  heaven,  or  to  bell. 

GUTTURAL. 

The  Guttural  tone  is  produced  by  an  explosive  resonance 
in  the  throat.  It  denotes  all  those  states  of  mind 
classed  under  dislike  and  ill-humor.  Prominent  char- 
acteristic is  a  harsh,  discordant  quality.  It  is  an  impure 
tone.     Low  pitch  and  slow  time. 

Examples. 

How  like  a  fawning  publican  he  looks ! 
I  hate  him,  for  he  is  a  Christian ; 


GUTTURAL.  49 

But  more  for  that,  in  low  simplicity, 
He  lends  out  money  gratis,  and  brings  down 
The  rate  of  usance  here  with  us  in  Venice. 
If  I  can  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip, 
I  will  feed  fat  the  ancient  gTudge  I  bear  him. 
'      He  hates  our  sacred  nation ;  and  he  rails. 

Even  there  where  merchants  most  do  congregate, 
On  me,  my  bargains,  and  my  well  won  thrift, 
Which  he  calls  interest.     Cursed  be  my  tribe 
If  I  forgive  him. 

— Shakespeare. 

Thou  slave  !  thou  wretch !  thou  coward ! 
Thou  little  valiant,  great  in  viUany  ! 
Thou  ever  strong  upon  the  stronger  side  ! 
Thou  Fortune's  champion,  that  dost  never  fight 
But  when  her  humorous  ladyship  is  by 
To  teach  thee  safety  ! 

— Shakespeare. 

Traitor  !  I  go,  but  I  return  !     This — trial ! 

Here  I  devote  your  senate !     I  've  had  wrongs 

To  stir  a  fever  in  the  blood  of  age. 

Or  make  the  infant's  sinews  strong  as  steel. 

This  day  's  the  birth  of  sorrows ;  this  hour's  work 

Will  breed  proscription.     Look  to  your  hearths,  my  lords, 

For  there,  henceforth,  shall  sit,  for  household  gods, 

Shai)es  hot  from  Tartarus  ; — all  shames  and  crimes ; 

Wan  Treachery,  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn  ; 

Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup ; 

Naked  Rebellion,  with  the  torch  and  axe. 

Making  his  wild  sport  of  your  blazing  thrones ; 

Till  Anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  night, 

And  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave. 

*'  You  common  cry  of  curs  !  whose  breath  I  hate 
As  reek  o'  the  rotten  fens, — whose  loves  I  prize 
As  the  dead  carcasses  of  unburied  men, 
That  do  corrupt  my  air, — /  banish  you  I  " 
4 


60  ELOCUTION. 

I  '11  have  my  bond  ;  I  will  not  hear  thee  speak. 

I  '11  have  my  bond ;  and,  therefore,  speak  no  more. 

I  '11  not  be  mack:  a  soft  and  dull-eyed  fool, 

To  shake  the  head,  relent,  and  sigh,  and  yield 

To  Christian  intercessors.     Follow  not . 

I  '11  have  no  more  speaking      I  will  have  my  bond. 

— Shakesjyeare. 

"  Ye  gods  !  ye  gods  !  must  I  endure  all  this  ?  " 

"  Know  ye  not,  then,"  said  Satan,  filled  with  scorn, 
"  Know  ye  not  me  ? — Ye  knew  me  once  no  mate 
For  you ;  there  sitting  where  ye  diirst  not  soar : 
Not  to  know  me  arg-ues  yourselves  unknown, — 
The  lowest  of  your  throng." 

"  Let  them  pull  all  about  mine  ears ;  present  me 
Death  on  the  wheel,  or  at  wild  horses'  heels ; 
Or  pile  ten  liills  on  the  Tarpeian  rock. 
That  the  precipitation  might  down  stretch 
Below  the  beam  of  sight ;  yet  wiU  I  still 
Be  thus  to  them." 

PECTORAL. 

The  Pectoral  Quality  gives  expression  to  deep-seated 
anger,  despair,  great  solemnity.  It  requires  deep  ab- 
dominal breathing ;  is  low  in  pitch ;  is  usually  accom- 
panied by  slow  time ;  and  is  used  in  the  supernatural. 

Examples. 

I  am  thy  father's  spirit, — 
Doomed  for  a  certain  term  to  walk  the  night ; 
And,  for  the  day,  confined  to  fast  in  fires, 
TiU  the  foul  crimes,  done  in  my  days  of  nature, 
Are  burned  and  purged  away.     But  that  I  am  forbid 
To  tell  the  secrets  of  my  prison-house, 
I  could  a  tale  unfold  whose  Hghtest  word 


PECTORAL.  51 

Would  harrow  up  thy  soul,  freeze  thy  young  blood, 
Make  thy  two  eyes,  like  stars,  start  from  their  spheres, 
Thy  knotted  and  combined  locks  to  part, 
And  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end 
Like  quills  upon  the  fretfid  porcupine. 

— Shakespeare. 

Oh !  I  have  passed  a  miserable  night ! 
So  full  of  fearful  dreams,  of  ugly  sights. 
That,  as  I  am  a  Christian,  faithful  man, 
I  woidd  not  spend  another  such  a  night. 
Though  't  were  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days, 
So  full  of  dismal  terror  was  the  time  ! 

— Shakespeare. 

Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry  "  Sleep  no  more  ! 

Macbeth  does  murder  sleej) !  " 

Still  it  cried,  "  Sleep  no  more  !  Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep, 

And  therefore  Cawdor  shall  sleep  no  more ; 

Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more." 

— S?iakespeare. 

They  're  gone  !  they  're  gone  !  the  glimmering  spark  hath  fled  ! 

The  wife  and  child  are  numbered. with  the  dead. 

On  the  cold  earth,  outstretched  in  solemn  rest, 

The  babe  lay  frozen  on  its  mother's  breast. 

The  gambler  came  at  last, — ])ut  all  was  o'er  : 

Dread  silence  reigned  around — the  clock  struck  four ! 

— Coates. 

Avannt !  and  quit  my  sight !     Let  the  earth  hide  thee  ! 

Thy  bones  are  mavrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold  ; 

Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes 

Which  thou  dost  glare  with  !     Hence,  horrible  shadow  ! 

Unreal  mockery,  hence ! 

— Shakespeare. 

Still  it  cried,  "  Sleep  no  more,"^  to  all  the  house : 

"  Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep,  and  therefore  Caivdor 

Shall  sleep  no  more  ;  Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more  !  " 


52  ELOCUTION. 

What  may  this  mean, 
That  thou,  dead  corse,  again,  in  complete  steel, 
Revisit'st  thus  the  glimpses  of  the  moon. 
Making  night  liideous  ;  and  we  fools  of  nature, 
So  horribly  to  shake  our  dispositions 
With  thoughts  beyond  the  reaches  of  our  souls  ? 

— Shakespeare. 

"In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the  night,  when  deep  sleep 
falleth  on  men,  fear  came  upon  me,  and  trembling,  which  made  all 
my  bones  to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my  face  :  the  hair  of 
my  flesh  stood  up.  It  stood  still ;  but  I  could  not  discern  the  form 
thereof ;  an  image  was  before  mine  eyes ;  there  was  silence ;  and 
I  heard  a  voice  saying,  Shall  mortal  man  be  more  just  than  God  ? 
Shall  a  man  be  more  pure  than  his  Maker  ?  " 

TREMBLING. 

The    Trembling  tone   is   used   iu    old   age.     It   expresses 
anxiety  and  intense  desire. 

Examples. 

You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man, 
As  f uU  of  grief,  as  age  ;  wretched  in  both ! 
If  it  be  you  that  stir  these  daughters'  hearts 
Against  their  father,  fool  me  not  so  much 
To  bear  it  tamely  ;  touch  me  with  noble  anger, 
And  let  not  women's  weapons,  water-drops, 
Stain  my  man's  cheeks  ! — Shaliespeare. 

Then  suddenly  rang  a  sharp,  low  cry  ! 

Bess  sank  on  her  knees,  and  wildly  tossed 
Her  withered  arms  in  the  summer  sky, — 

"  O  Willie  !   Willie  !  my  lad  !  my  lost ! 
The  Lord  be  praised !  after  sixty  years 

I  see  you  again !     The  tears  you  cost, 
O  Willie,  darlin',  were  bitter  tears !  " 

— Hamilton  Aide. 


TREMBLING.  53 

Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  man, 

Whose  trembling  limbs  have  borne  him  to  your  door ; 
Whose  days  are  dwindled  to  the  shortest  span ; — 

Oh!  give  relief,  and  Heaven  will  bless  your  store. 

— Thomas  Moss. 

*' '  T  was  sae  sad,"  moaned  the  crushed,  aged  mother,  each    word 

dripping  o  'er  with  tear, 
"  Sae  far  he  should  come  for  to  find  us,  and  then  he  should  perish 

sae  near ! 
0  Robin,  my  bairn  !  ye  did  wander  far  from  us  for  mony  a  day, 
But  when  ye  ha'  come  back  sae  near  us,  why  could  na'  ye  come  a' 

the  way  ?  " —  Will  Carleton. 

"  How  dark  it  is  !     I  cannot  seem  to  see 
The  faces  of  my  flock.     Is  that  the  sea 
That  murmurs  so  ?  or  is  it  weeping  ?     Hush, 
My  little  children !     God  so  loved  the  world, 
He  gave  his  Son  :  so  love  ye  one  another. 
Love  God,  and  man.     Amen !  " 

"  I  '11  go  no  more  : 
I  am  afraid  to  think  what  I  have  done ; 
Look  on 't  again  I  dare  not." 

*'  Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me  " — 
Lips  grown  aged  sung  the  hymn 

Trustingly  and  tenderly. 
Voice  grown  weak  and  eyes  grown  dim — 

"  Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 
Trembhng  though  the  voice  and  low, 
Ran  the  sweet  strain  peacefully 

Like  a  river  in  its  flow. 
"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me. 

Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 

"  She  prayed,  her  withered  hand  uprearing,^ 
'  God,  who  art  never  out  of  hearing, 
Oh,  may  he  never  more  be  warm  ! ' " 


54  ELOCUTION. 


PROLONGATION. 

Prolongation  is  used  to  give   the  effect  of  distance,  time, 
and  number. 

Examples. 

0  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar. 
The  horns  of  Ellland  faintly  blowing. 

— Tennyson. 

*'  Backward,  roll  backward,  O  Time,  in  your  flight ; 
Make  me  a  child  again,  just  for  to-night." 

To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time. 

— Shakespeare. 

The  clock  strikes  twelve ; — the  grave  opens,  and  closes,  and  the 
old  year  is  buried. — Brooks. 

The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years ; 
But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth,' 
Unhurt  amidst  the  war  of  elements. 
The  wreck  of  matter,  and  the  crush  of  worlds. 

— Addison. 

We  spend  our  years  like  a  tale  that  is  told.  The  days  of  our 
years  are  three  score  years  and  ten;  and  if,  by  reason  of  strength, 
they  be  four  score  years,  yet  is  their  strength  labor  and  sorrow. 

—Bible. 

Oh,  a  wonderful  st:  am  is  the  river  of  Time, 

As  it  runs  through  the  realm  of  tears, 
With  a  faultless  rhythm  and  musical  rhyme, 
And  a  boundless  sweep  and  a  surge  sublime, 

As  it  blends  with  the  ocean  of  years. 

—B.  F.  Taylor. 


FALSETTO.  55 

Oh,  sweet  and  strange  it  seems  to  me,  that  ere  this  day  is  done 
The  voice  tliat  now  is  speaking  may  be  beyond  the  sun, — 
Forever  and  forever, — all  in  a  blessed  home, — 
And  there  to  wait  a  little  while  tiU  you  and  Efl&e  come, — 
To  lie  within  the  light  of  God  as  I  lie  upon  your  breast, — 
Where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

— Tennyson. 

And,  friends,  dear  friends,  when  it  shaU  be 

That  this  low  breath  is  gone  from  me, 

And  roimd  my  bier  ye  come  to  weep, 

Let  one,  most  loving  of  you  all. 

Say,  "  Not  a  tear  must  o  'er  her  fall ; 

He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." — Mrs.  Browning. 

FALSETTO. 

The  Falsetto  Quality  is  that  tone  of  voice  used  in  weakness, 
in  childhood,  and  in  okl  age ;  also  in  merriment,  in  terror, 
and  in  remorse. 

Examples. 

Out,  damned  spot !  out,  I  say ! — Macbeth. 

I  beg  your  pardon :  I  thought  my  father  was, — or  might  be, 

Dear  me,  how  very  awkward !  I  never  knew  any  thing  liappen  so 
cross.  I  am  very  sorry  I  intruded.  If  I  had  n't  thought  my  father 
was  here,  I  would  n't,  upon  any  account,  have It  is  very  pro- 
voking— must  look  very  strange  ! — Dickens. 

WUl  the  New  Year  come  to-night,  mamma  ?  I  'm  tired  of  waiting  so  ; 
My  stocking  hung  by  the  chimney-side  full  three  long  days  ago. 
I  run  to  peep  within  the  door  by  morning's  eai'ly  light, — 
'  T  is  empty  stiU.     Oh,  say,  mannna,  will  New  Year  come  to-night  ? 

— Cora  M.  Eager. 

And  from  the  crowd  beneath,  in  accents  wild, 

A  mother  screams,  "  O  God  !  my  child  !  my  child  !  " 

— George  M.  Baker. 


56  ELOCUTION. 

Yes,  it  is  worth  talking  of  !  But  that 's  how  you  always  try  to 
put  me  down.  You  fly  into  a  rage,  and  then  if  I  only  try  to  speak, 
you  won 't  hear  me.  That 's  how  you  men  always  wUl  have  all  the 
talk  to  yourselves  :  a  poor  woman  is  n't  allowed  to  get  a  word  in. 

— Douglas  Jerrold. 

"  Down  in  the  bright  deen  meadows, 

The  pitty  daisies'  home, 
Daisies  dat  are  my  name-sate, 

Mamma  said  I  might  tum." 

Do,  good  people,  move  on  ;  such  a  rabble  of  hoys  ! 

I  '11  break  every  bone  of  'em  I  come  near  : 

Go  home — you  're  sjjilling  the  porter — 

Go  home.  Tommy  Jones,  go  along  with  your  beer. 

This  is  the  sorrowfidest  day  of  my  life, 

Ever  since  my  name  was  Betty  Morgan. — Hood. 

^'BUly  !  Where  are  you,   Billy?  I  say,  come   home   to  your  best  of 

mothers. 
I  'm  scared  when  I  think  of  them  Cabroleys,  they  drive  so, 
They  'd  run  over  their  own  sisters  and  brothers. 
Or  maybe  he  's  stole  by   some  chimney-sweeping  wretch  to  stick  in 

narrow  flues,  and  what  not. 
Oh !  I  'd  give  the  whole   wide  world,  if  the  world  was  mine,  to  clap 

my  two  longing  eyes  on  his  face. 
For    he  's   my  darlin'  of  darlin's,  and  if  he  do  n't  soon  come   back, 

you  '11  see  me  drop  stone  dead  on  the  place." 

"  Oh ,  Ephraim !  "  said  she,  the  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks, 
and  the  smiles  coursing  up. 

"  Why,  what  is  it,  Arimathea  ?  "  said  the  astonished  Mr.  Jones, 
smartly  rubbing  his  head  where  it  came  in  contact  with  the  lounge. 

"  Baby  !  "  she  gasped. 

Mr.  Jones  turned  pale  and  commenced  to  sweat. 

"  Baby  !  Oh  !  oh !  oh  !  Pli)hraim  I  Baby  has — baby  has  got — a 
little  toothy.     Oh  !  oh !  oh  ! !  " 

— Danhury  News  Man. 


STACCATO.  67 

"  Sit  and  roast  there  with  your  meat ;  sit  and  bake  there  with  your 

bread — 
You  who  sat  there  to  see  us  starve !  "  one  shrinking  woman  said. 
"  Sit  on  your  throne  and  roast,  with  your  crown  upon  your  head !  " 

STACCATO. 

The    Staccato  Tone  is  a  short,  distinct,  articulated  style, 
and  is  used  in  harsh  sentiment. 

Examples. 

Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil, 

Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil. 

Like  mountain  cat  that  guards  her  young,  * 

Full  at  Fitz  James's  throat  she  sprung. 

—Scott. 

Lay  on,  Macduff! 
And  damn'd  be  he  who  first  cries  "  Hold !  enough  !  " 

— Macbeth. 

Blow,  wind  !     Come,  wrack  ! 
At  least  we  '11  die  with  harness  on  our  back. 

— Macbeth. 

Not  in  the  legions 
Of  horrid  hell  can  come  a  devil  more  damn'd 
In  evils  to  top  Macbeth. — Macbeth. 

And  dar'st  thou,  then. 

To  beard  the  lion  in  his  d(Mi, 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 

And  hop'st  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 

No  !  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  I — Scott. 

"  Boot,  saddle,  to  horse,  and  away  ! 
Rescue  my  castle  before  the  hot  day 
Brightens  to  blue  from  its  silvery  gray : 
Boot,  saddle,  to  horse,  and  away !  " 


68  ELOCUTION. 

"  '  Go  ! '  Through  his  ear  the  summons  stung, 

As  if  a  battle-trump  had  rung  ; 

The  slumb'ring  instincts  long  unstirred 

Start  at  the  old  familiar  word  ; 

It  thrills  like  flame  through  every  li*b — 

What  mean  his  twenty  years  to  him  ? 

The  savage  blow  his  rider  dealt 

Fell  on  his  hollow  flanks  unfelt ; 

The  spur  that  pricked  his  staring  hide, 

Unheeded,  tore  his  bleeding  side  ; 

Alike  to  him  are  spur  and  rein, — 

He  steps  a  five-year-old  again !  " 

Cas.  Brutus,  bay  not  me  ! 
I  '11  not  endure  it.     You  forget  yourself, 
To  hedge  me  in  :  I  am  a  soldier,  I, 
Older  in  practice,  abler  than  yourself 
To  make  conditions. 

Bru.  Go  to !  you  are  not,  Cassius. 

Cas.  I  am. 

Bru.  I  say  you  are  not ! 

Cas.  Urge  me  no  more  :  I  shall  forget  myself  : 
Have  mind  upon  your  health  ;  tempt  me  no  further  ! 

Bru.  You  say  you  are  a  better  soldier : 
Let  it  appear  so  ;  make  your  vaunting  true. 
And  it  shall  please  me  well.     For  mine  own  part, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  learn  of  noble  men. — Shakespeare. 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock ; 

'  T  is  of  the  wave,  and  not  the  rock  ; 

'  T  is  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 

And  not  a  rent  made  by  the  gale. 

Spite  of  rock  and  tempest  roar. 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore. 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea  ; 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee. 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears, 

Our  faith  triumphant  o'er  our  fears, 

Are  all  with  thee, — are  all  with  thee. 

— Longfellow. 


IMITATIVE.  69 

IMITATIVE. 

The  Imitative    is   used  to   suit   sound   to   sense.     Bell — 
Moan — Thunder — Crash,  etc. 

Examples. 

For  men  must  work  and  women  must  weep, 
Though  there  's  little  to  earn  and  many  to  keep, 
And  the  harbor  bar  be  moaning. — Kmgsley. 

O  warning  lights  !  burn  bright  and  clear, — 

Hither  the  storm  comes  ; 
Leagues  away  it  moans  and  tliunders  low  and  drear, — 

Burn  till  the  break  of  day. — Celia  Thaxter. 

Then  came  thunder  in  mine  ears, 
And  over  us  surged  the  sea  of  steers. 

— Desprez. 

Do  not  mock  me.  Oh  !  ring  the  bells  softly. 
And  burn  your  lights  low ;  my  Italy 's  there 
With  my  brave  civic  pair  to  disfranchise  despair. 

— Mrs.  Browning. 

Oh  !  sweet  and  far,  from  cliff  and  scar. 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing. 
Blow,  bugle  ! — hear  the  purjjle  glens  replying ; 
Blow,  bugle  ! — answer,  echoes, 
Dying — dying — dying. — Tennyson. 

"  Merrily  swinging  on  brier  and  weed. 

Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame. 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name, — 
Bol)-()-link,  bob-o-llnk, 
Spink,  spank,  si)ink  ! 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  sunnner  flowers  : 
Chee,  chee,  chee  !  " 


60  ELOCUTION. 

"  How  sweet  the  chime  of  the  Sabbath  bells  ! 
Each  one  its  creed  in  music  tells 
In  tones  that  float  upon  the  ilir, 
As  soft  as  song,  as  pure  as  prayer. 
And  I  will  put  in  simple  rhyme 
The  language  of  the  golden  chime : 
My  happy  heart  with  rapture  swells 
Responsive  to  the  bells,  sweet  bells." 

"  But  there  came  no  other  answer 
Than  the  echo  of  his  crying, 
Than  the  echo  of  the  woodlands, 

'  Minnehaha  !  Minnehaha ! ' 

And  the  desolate  Hiawatha, 
Far  away  amid  the  forest. 
Heard  the  sudden  cry  of  anguish. 
Heard  the  voice  of  Minnehaha 
Calling  to  him  in  the  dai-kness, 

'  Hiawatha  !  Hiawatha !  '  " 

"  The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls. 
And  snowy  siunmits  old  in  story : 

The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 

Blow,  bugle,  blow !  — set  the  wild  echoes  flying ; 

Blow,  bugle  ! — answer,  echoes, 
Dying— dying— dying. 

"  Oh,  love  !  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky  ; 

They  faint  on  hill,  or  field,  or  river  : 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 

And  live  forever  and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow  ! — set  the  wild  echoes  flying ; 

And  answer,  echoes,  answer, 
Dying— dying— dying." 


SONOKOUS.  61 

SONOROUS. 

The  Sonorous  Tone  is  made  by  abdominal  breathing,  and  is 
used  in  passion. 

Examples. 

Ah!  more  royally  in  woman's  heart  than  dwells  within  the 
crowned  majesty  and  sceptered  anger  of  an  hundred  kings. — 
Richelieu. 

You  do  not  know  what  you  say,  my  poor  child.  You  do  not 
comprehend  that  this  woidd  he  to  villify,  to  dishonor,  the  widow  of 
Louis  XVI. — Ma7'ie  Antoinette. 

Come  not  ci'Inging  to  woo  me ; 

Take  me  with  jiassion  and  power, 
As  a  warrior  storms  a  fortress : 

I  will  not  shrink  or  cower. 
Come  as  you  came  in  the  desert 

Ei-e  we  were  women  and  men, 
When  the  tiger  passions  were  in  us. 

And  love  as  you  loved  me  then. 

—  W.  W.  Story. 

Give  me  my  rohe,  put  on  my  crown  ;  I  have 
Immortal  longings  in  me  ;  now  no  more 
The  juice  of  Egypt's  gi-ape  shall  moist  this  lip  ; 
Yare,  yare,  good  Iras ;  quick.     Methinks  I  hear 
Antony  call. — Shakespeare. 

"  Ah,  me  !  this  lifeless  nature 

02)presses  my  heart  and  hrain  ! 
0  for  a  storm  and  thunder. 

For  lightning  and  wild,  fierce  rain! 
Fling  down  that  lute — I  hate  it ! 

Take  rather  liis  huckler  and  sword. 
And  crash  them  and  clash  them  together 

Till  this  sleeping  world  is  stirred." 


62  ELOCUTION. 

Hie  thee  hither, 
That  I  may  pour  r^y  spirits  in  thine  ear; 
And  chastise  with  tlie  valor  of  my  tongue 
All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round, 
Which  fate  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem 
To  have  thee  crown'd  withal. — Shakespeare. 

"  Once  to  speak  before  the  world,  rend  bare  my  heart,  and  show 
The  lesson  I  have  learned,  which  is  death,  is  life,  to  know. 
I,  if  I  perish, — perish  ;  in  the  name  of  God  I  go." 

"  O  my  soul's  joy ! 
If  after  every  tempest  come  such  calms. 
May  the  winds  blow  till  they  have  waken'd  death  ! 

0  joy  !  thou  welcome  stranger  !  twice  three  years 

1  have  not  felt  thy  vital  beam  ;  but  now 

It  warms  my  veins,  and  plays  about  my  heart : 
A  fiery  instinct  lifts  me  from  the  ground, 
And  I  could  mount — " 

SOSTENUTO. 

The  Sosteniito  is  that  tone  of  voice  used  in  love,  admira- 
tion, and  pleasing  sentiment.     High  pitch,  moderate  time. 

Examples. 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank ; 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears ; — soft  stillness,  and  the  night, 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. — Shakespeare. 

Soft  undulations, 

Like  music's  vibrations 
Coursing  light-footed  the  silvery  strings, 

Seem  like  the  ocean 

In  jubilant  motion. 
Rocking  its  burden  of  beautiful  things. 

— Edward  A.  Jenks, 


SOSTENUTO.  63 

But  thou,  O  Hope,  with  eyes  so  fair, — 

What  was  thy  delightful  measure  ? 

Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure, 

And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail; 

Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong ; 

And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 

She  called  on  Echo  still,  through  all  the  song; 

And  when  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 

A  soft,  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close ; 

And  Hojje,  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden  hair. 

—  William  C.  Bryant. 

She  came  in  all  her  beauty,  like  the  moon  from  the  cloud  in 
in  the  east.  Loveliness  was  around  her,  as  light.  Her  steps  were 
like  the  music  of  songs. — Ossia7i. 

A  sensitive  plant  in  a  garden  grew. 
And  the  young  winds  fed  it  with  silver  dew  ; 
And  it  opened  its  fanlike  leaves  to  the  light, 
And  closed  them  beneath  the  kisses  of  night. 

— Shelley. 

Oh  !  be  some  other  name  ! 
What 's  in  a  name  ?      That  wliich  we  call  a  rose 
By  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet ; 
So  Romeo  would,  were  he  not  Romeo  called, 
Retain  that  dear  perfection  which  he  owes 
Without  that  title. — Shakespeare. 

Come,  gentle  night !  come,  loving,  black-browed  night ! 

Give  me  my  Romeo ;  and,  when  he  shall  die. 

Take  him  and  cut  him  out  in  little  stars, 

And  he  will  make  the  face  of  heaven  so  fine 

That  all  the  world  will  be  in  love  with  night, 

And  pay  no  worshi])  to  the  garish  sun. — Shakespeare. 

She  walks  in  beauty,  like  the  night 
Of  cloudl(>ss  climes  and  starry  skies. 
And  all  that 's  best  of  dark  and  bright 
Meet  in  her  aspect  and  her  eyes. — Byron. 


64  ELOCUTION. 

MOVEMENT. 

Movement  refers  to  time,  and  is  quick,  moderate,  and  slow. 

Quick     Movement. 

Quick  Movement   expresses    joy,  witli   confusion,  violent 
anger,  and  sudden  fear. 

Examples. 

Away  !  away  !   our  fires  stream  bright 

Along  the  frozen  river, 
And  their  arrowy  sparkles  of  brilliant  light 

On  the  forest  branches  quiver. — Bryant. 

"  Pull,  pull  in  your  lassoes,  and  bridle  to  steed, 
And  speed,  if  ever  for  life  you  woidd  speed. 
And  ride  for  your  lives,  for  your  lives  you  must  ride ; 
For  the  plain  is  aflame,  the  prairie  on  fire, 
And  feet  of  wild  horses  hard  flying  before, 
I  hear  like  a  sea  breaking  high  on  the  shore  ; 
While  the  buffalo  come  like  the  surge  of  the  sea, 
Driven  far  by  the  flame,  driving  fast  on  us  three, 
As  a  hurricane  comes,  crushing  palms  in  his  ire." 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 
A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 
And  beneath  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet ; 
That  was  all !  — Lonyfellow. 

"  I  come  !  I  come  !  ye  have  called  me  long ! 
I  come  o'er  the  mountains  with  light  and  song ! 
Ye  may  trace  my  step  o'er  the  wakening  earth. 
By  the  winds  which  tell  of  the  violet's  birth. 
By  the  primrose  stars  in  the  shadowy  grass. 
By  the  green  leaves  ojjening  as  I  pass. 


MOV  EM  EXT.  65 

"  From  the  streams  a'.id  founts  I  have  loosed  the  chain, 
They  are  sweeping  on  to  the  silvery  main, 
They  are  flashing  doAvn  from  the  mountain  brows, 
They  are  flinging  spray  o'er  the  forest  houghs. 
They  are  bursting  fresh  from  their  sparry  caves , 
And  the  earth  resounds  witli  the  joy  of  waves !  " 

"  Then  fancy  her  magical  pinions  spread  wide. 
And  bade  the  young  dreamer  in  ecstasy  rise  ; 
Now,  far,  far  behind  him  the  green  waters  glide, 
And  the  cot  of  his  forefathers  blesses  his  eyes. 

"  The  jessamine  clambers  in  flower  o'er  the  thatch, 

And  the  swallow  sings  sweet  from  her  nest  in  the  wall ; 
All  trembling  with  transport,  he  raises  the  latch, 
And  the  voices  of  loved  ones  reply  to  his  call." 

"  Every  one  is  doubtful  what  course  to  take, — every  one  but 
Caesar  !  He  causes  the  banner  to  be  erected,  the  charge  to  be 
sovmded,  the  soldiers  at  a  distance  to  be  recalled, — all  in  a  moment. 
He  runs  from  place  to  place ;  his  whole  frame  is  in  action ;  his 
words,  his  looks,  liis  motions,  his  gestures,  exhort  his  men  to  remem- 
ber their  former  valor.  He  draws  them  up,  and  causes  the  signal 
to  be  given, — all  in  a  moment.  He  seizes  a  buckler  from  one  of 
his  private  men,  puts  himself  at  the  head  of  liis  broken  troops,  darts 
into  the  thick  of  the  battle,  rescues  his  legions,  and  overtlu-ows  the 
enemy  !  " 

"  You  must  wake  and  call  me  early,  call  me  early,  mother  dear, 
To-morrow  '11  be  the  happiest  time  of  all  tlie  glad  New  Year ; 
Of  all  the  glad  New  Year,  mother,  the  maddest,  merriest  day, 
For  I  'm  to  be  Queen  of  the  May,  mother,  I  'm  to  be  Queen  of 
the  May. 

"  I  sleep  so  sound  all  night,  mother,  that  I  shall  never  wake, 
If  you  do  not  call  me  loud  when  the  day  begins  to  break  : 
But  I  must  gather  knots  of  flowers,  and  buds  and  garlands  gay. 
For  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I  'm  to  be  Queen  o' 
the  May." 
5 


66  ELOCUTION. 

"  If  ever  you  saw  an  old  hoss  spring  upwards  into  a  new, 
If  ever  you  saw  a  driver  whose  traps  behind  him  flew, 
'T  was  that  old  hoss  a  rompin'  and  racin'  along  the  track, 
And  that  respectable  milkman  a  tryin'  to  hold  him  back. 

"Away  he  rushed  like  a  cyclone  at  the  head  of  No.  3, 
Gained  the  lead  and  kept  it,  and  steered  the  journey  free, 
Dodgin'  the  wheels  and  bosses,  and  still  on  the  keenest  silk, 
And  furnishing  all  that  deestrict  with  good  respectable  milk.' 


Moderate    Movement. 

Moderate  time  is  used  in  cheerfulness  and  the  gentle  forms 
of  the  emotion. 

Examples. 

Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 

Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous. 

Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head  ; 

And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 

Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks. 

Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everytliing. 

— As  You  Like  It. 

This  was  the  noblest  Roman  of  them  all ; — 
His  life  was  gentle ;  and  tbe  elements 
So  mixed  in  him  that  Nature  might  stand  up 
And  say  to  all  the  world.  This  was  a  man. 

— Julius  Ccesar. 

"  Let  me  play  the  fool: 
With  mirth  and  laughter  let  old  wrinkles  come; 
And  let  my  liver  ratliev  heat  witli  wine 
Then  my  heart  cool  with  mortifying  groans. 
Why  sliould  a  man,  whose  blood  is  warm  witliin, 
Sit  like  liis  grandsire,  cut  in  alabaster  ? 
Sleep  wlien  lie  wakes  ?  and  creep  into  the  javindice 
By  being  peevish  ?  " 


MOVEMENT.  67 

"  That  strain  again  I  it  had  a  dying  fall  ! 
Oh,  it  came  o'er  my  ear  like  the  sweet  south, 
Tliat  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets, 
Stealing  and  giving  odor." 


Yet  I  doubt  not  through  the  ages  one  increasing  purpose  runs, 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the  process  of  the  suns. 

Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers,  and  he  bears  a  laden  breast. 
Full  of  sad  experience  moving  toward  the  stillness  of  his  rest. 

Not  in  vain  the  distance  beckons.     Forward,  forward  let  us  range; 
Let  the  great  world  spin  forever  down  the  ringing  grooves  of  change. 

Through  the  shadow  of  the  globe  we  sweep  into  the  younger  day: 
Better  fifty  years  of  Euroiie  than  a  cycle   of  Cathay. 

Mother-age  (for  mine  I  knew  not),  help  me  as  wlien  life  begun, — 
Rift  the  hills  and  roll  the  waters,  hash  the  lightnings,  weigh  the  sun: 

Oh,  I  see  the  crescent  promise  of  my  spirit  hath  not  set; 
Ancient  founts  of  inspiration  well  through  all  my  fancy  yet. 

Howsoever  these  things  be,  a  long  farewell  to  Locksley  Hall! 
Now  for  me  the  woods  may  wither,  now  for  me  the  roof-tree  fall. 

I  — Tenrii/son. 

"The  scene  had  also  its  minstrels;  the  ])irds,  those  ministers  and 
worshippers  of  Nature,  were  on  the  wing,  filling  the  air  with  melo- 
dy ;  while,  like  diligent  little  housewives,  they  ransacked  the  forest 
and  field  for  materials  for  their  housekeeping." 

"Across  in  my  neiglibors  window,  wiMi  its  <h-apings  of  satin  and  hvce, 
I  see,  'neath  its  flowing  ringlets,  a  baby's  innocent  face. 
His  feet,  in  crimson  slippers,  are  tapping  the  polislied  glass; 
And  the  crowd  in  the  street  look  uiiward,  and  nod  and  smile  as  they 
pass." 

Slow  Movement. 

Slow  time  is  used  to  express  vastness,  soleiniiity,  horror, 
and  consternation. 


68 


ELOCUTION. 


Examples. 


"  Who  can  number  the  clouds  in  wisdom  ?  or  who  can  stay  the 
bottles  of  heaven?  Who  hath  measured  the  waters  in  the  hollow 
of  his  hand,  and  meted  out  heaven  with  the  span,  and  (!ompre- 
hended  the  dust  of  the  earth  in  a  measure,  and  weighed  the  moun- 
tains in  scales  and  the  hills  in  a  balance  ?" 

"  As  some  tall  cliff,  that  lifts  its  awful  form. 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm. 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head." 

Break,  break,  break. 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  Sea ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

Oh,  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play  ! 

Oh,  well  for  the  sailor  lad 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay ! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  O  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still ! 

Break',  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  0  Sea ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

— Tennyson. 

"'Tis  midnight's  holy  hour:  and  silence  now 
Is  brooding  like  a  gentle  spirit  o'er 
The  still  and  jjulseless  world.     Hark  !  on  the  winds 
The  bell's  deep  tones  are  swelling :   't  is  the  knell 
Of  the  departed  year." 


INFLECTION.  69 

"  Silence  how  dead  ,  and  darkness  how  profound ! 
The  glooms  of  night  brood  o'er  a  slumb'ring  world." 

*'  Night  gathers  slowly  around  me— the  long  night  of  darkness  and 
death.  Witlun  mine  eye  the  light  of  life  is  fading,  as  the  day  is 
slowly  melting  from  the  darkening  sky." 

"  Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  doA\Ti, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory; 

We  carved  not  a  line,  we  raised  not  a  stone, 
But  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory." 

"  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour  : 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 

INFLECTION. 

Inflection  in  voice  indicates  each  passing  thought. 
Inflections  are  Rising,  Falling,  and  Monotone. 

Rising  Inflection. 

The  Rising  Inflection    is  the  rare    exception,  and  excites 
doubt  and  incredulity.     It  also  defers  to  the  hearer. 

Examples. 

None  could  run  so  fast  as  he  could ; 
None  could  dive  so  deep  as  he  could  ; 
None  could  swim  so  fast  as  he  could ; 
None  had  made  so  many  journeys, 
None  had  seen  so  many  wonders, 
As  the  wonderful  lago, 
As  this  marvellous  story-teller. 

— Jliaivatha. 

*'  It  is  vastly  easy  for  you,  Mistress  Dial,  who  liave  always,  as 
everybody  knows,  set  yourself  uj)  above  me, — it  is  vastly  easy  for 
you,  I  say,  to  accuse  other  people  of  laz;iness." 


70  ELOCUTION. 

Hamlet.  Look  you,  how  cheerfully  my  mother  looks,  and  my 
father  died  within  these  two  hours. 

Ophelia.  Nay,  't  is  twice  two  months,  my  lord. 

Hamlet.  So  long  ?  Nay,  then,  let  the  devil  wear  black,  for  I  '11 
have  a  suit  of  sables.  Oh.  heavens !  die  two  months  ago,  and  not 
forgotten  yet  ? 

— Hamlet. 

Look  upon  my  boy  ?     What  mean  you  ? 
Look  upon  my  boy  as  though  I  guessed  it, — 
Guessed  the  trial  you  'd  have  me  make  ? 

— Knowles. 

"  You  come  to  teach  the  people  ?  " 

"  Hast  thou  entered  into  the  treasures  of  the  snow  ?  or  hast  thou 
seen  the  treasures  of  the  hall  ?  Canst  thou  bind  the  sweet  influ- 
ences of  Pleiades,  or  loose  the  bands  of  Orion  ?  Canst  thou  bring 
forth  Mazzaroth  in  his  season  ?  or  canst  thou  guide  Arcturus  with 
his  sons  ?  " 

"  Hear  him,  my  lord  ;  he  's  wondrous  condescending ! 
Mark  the  humility  of  shepherd  Norval !  " 

"  Lideed  !  he  is  your  friend,  is  he  ? 
What !  has  he  assured  you  that  he  is  my  friend  ?  " 

"  We  ! — what  page  in  the  last  court  grammar  made  you  a  plural  ?  *' 

"  All  this  ?     Ay.  more.     Fret  till  your  proud  heart  break  : 
Go  show  your  slaves  how  choleric  you  are. 
And  make  your  bondmen  tremble.     Must  I  budge  ? 
Must  I  observe  you  ?     Must  I  stand  and  crouch 
Under  yoiu"  testy  humor  ?  " 

Falling  Inflection. 

The  Falling  Inflection  is  the  rule,  and  carries  conviction 
and  pathos. 


INFLECTION.  71 

Examples. 

"  One  more  unfortunate, 
Weary  of  breath, 
Rashly  importunate, 
Gone  to  her  death.  " 

O  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt. 

Thaw,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew ' 

Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fixed 

His  canon  'gainst  self-slavighter  !     0  God  !   0  God  ! 

How  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unjjrofitable 

Seem  to  me  all  the  uses  of  this  world ! 

Fie  on  't !  oh,  fie  !      'T  is  an  unweeded  garden 

That  grows  to  seed  ;  things  rank  and  gross  in  nature 

Possess  it  merely.     That  it  should  come  to  this ! 

But  two  months  dead  ;  nay,  not  so  much,  not  two ; 

So  excellent  a  king ;  that  was  to  this, 

Hyperion  to  a  satyr !  so  loving  to  my  mother 

That  he  might  not  beteem  the  winds  of  heaven 

Visit  her  face  two  roughly.     Heaven  and  earth  ! 

Let  me  not  think  on  't.     Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman  ! 

— Hamlet. 

"  When  in  the  silent  niglit  all  earth  lies  hushed 
In  slumber ;  when  the  glorious  stars  shine  out, 
Each  star  a  sun,  each  sun  a  central  light 
Of  some  fair  system,  ever  wheeling  on 
In  one  unbroken  round,  and  that  again 
Revolving  round  another  sun  ;  while  all 
Suns,  stars,  and  systems  proudly  roll  along 
In  one  majestic  ever-onward  course. 
In  space  uncircumscribed  and  limitless, — 
Oh!  think  you  then  the  undebased  soul 
Can  calmly  give  itself  to  sleep, — to  rest?" 

"  Hush  !  lightly  tread  !  still  tranquilly  she  sleeps  ; 
I  've  watched,  suspending  e'en  my  breath,  in  fear 
To  break  the  heavenly  spell.     Move  silently." 


T2  ELOCUTION. 

"  Go  stand  upon  the  heights  at  Niagara,  and  listen  in  awe-struck 
silence  to  that  boldest,  most  earnest  and  eloquent,  of  all  Nature's 
orators !  And  what  is  Niagara,  with  its  plunging  waters  and  its 
mighty  roar,  but  the  oracle  of  God,  the  whisper  of  His  voice  who  is 
revealed  in  the  Bible  as  sitting  above  the  water-floods  forever  ?  " 

"  The  drums  are  all  muffled  ;  the  bugles  are  still ; 
There  's  a  pause  in  the  valley,  a  halt  on  the  hill ; 
And  the  bearers  of  standards  swerve  back  with  a  thrill 

Where  the  sheaves  of  the  dead  bar  the  w^ay : 
For  a  great  field  is  reaped,  heaven's  garners  to  fill, 
And  stern  Death  holds  Ms  harvest  to-day. " 

"  The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day  ; 
The  lowing  herds  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea ; 
The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. " 

*'  Forever  and  forever,  all  in  a  blessed  home, 
And  there  to  wait  a  little  while,  till  you  and  Efiie  come, — 
To  lie  wdthin  the  light  of  God,  as  I  lie  upon  your  breast ; 
And  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest." 

— Tennyson :  "  May  Queen." 


Monotone. 

Monotone  occurs  in  those  parts  of  a  subject  wliere  several 
words  follow  each  other  without  requiring  any  variation 
of  tone.  It  should  be  read  or  si)oken  with  unvarying 
sameness.     Very  h)w  jntch  and  slow  time. 

Examples. 

As  autumn's  dark  storms  pour  from  Iavo  echoing  hills,  so  toward 
each  other  approached  the  heroes.  Steel  clanging  sounded  on  steel. 
Helmets  are  cleft  on  high ;  blood  bm-sts  and  smokes  around.  As 
the  troubled  noise  of  the  ocean  when  roll  the  waves  on  high  ;  as 
the  last  peal  of  the  tbunder  of  heaven, — such  is  the  noise  of  battle. 

— Ossian. 


MONOTONE.  73 

For  who  would  bear  tlie  whips  and  scorns  of  time, 

The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely, 

The  pangs  of  despis'd  love,  the  law's  delay, 

The  insolence  of  office,  and  the  spurns 

That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes, 

When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 

With  a  hare  bodkin  ?     Who  would  fardels  bear, 

To  grunt  and  sweat  under  a  weary  life  ? 

But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death, — 

That  undiscover'd  country,  from  whose  boiu'ne 

No  traveller  returns, — puzzles  the  will. 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  thoie  iUs  we  have^ 

Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of  ? 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all. — Hamlet. 

"  In  thoughts  from  the  visions  of  the  night,  when  deep  sleep  fall- 
eth  on  men,  fear  came  upon  me,  and  trembling  which  made  all  my 
bones  to  shake.  Then  a  spirit  passed  before  my  face ;  the  hair  of 
my  flesh  stood  up.  It  stood  still,  but  I  could  not  discern  the  foi-m 
thereof :  an  image  was  before  my  eyes,  there  was  silence,  and  I 
heard  a  voice,  saying,  '  Shall  mortal  man  be  more  just  than  God? 
Shall  a  man  be  more  pure  than  his  INIaker  ?  '  " 

And  now  the  grave  for  its  cold  breast  has  won  thee, 
And  thy  white  delicate  limbs  the  earth  will  press ; 

And,  oh !  my  last  caress 
Must  feel  thee  cold,  for  a  chill  hand  is  on  thee ; 
How  can  I  leave  my  boy  so  pillowed  there 

Upon  his  clustering  hair ! —  Willis. 

And  the  sun  became  black  as  sackclotli  of  bail-,  and  tlio  moon 
became  as  blood ;  and  the  stars  of  heaven  fell  ii])()n  the  earth,  even 
as  a  fig-tree  casteth  her  unthnely  h.fs,  whan  she  is  shaken  by  a 
mighty  wind.  And  the  heavens  (h']):irt',Ml  as  a  scroll  wlien  it  is 
rolled  together;  and  every  monntaiii  and  island  were  moved  out  of 
their  places. — Bible. 

"Toll,  toll.  \o\\. 
Thou  bell  by  billows  swung  !  " 


74  elocutiojSt. 

"  Night,  sable  gocldess,  from  her  ebon  throne, 
In  rayless  majesty  now  stretches  forth 
Her  leaden  sceptre  o'er  the  slvimbering  world. 
Silence  how  dead  !   and  darluiess  how  profound ! 

"  When  for  me  the  silent  oar 

Parts  the  Silent  River, 
And  I  stand  up:>n  tlie  shore 

Of  the  strange  Forever, 
Shall  I  miss  the  loved  and  known  ? 
Shall  I  vainly  seek  mine  own  ?  " 


EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis  produces  a  primary  beauty  of  oratory ;  it  gives 
the  nice  distinctions  of  meaning,  the  refined  conceptions 
which  language  is  capable  of  expressing,  and  imparts  a 
a  force  and  harmony  to  composition  which  its  absence 
would  render  lifeless,  and  frequently  unintelligible.  The 
best  rule  for  emphasizing  justly  is  to  study  the  true 
meaning  of  the  author,  and  lay  the  stress  upon  such 
words  as  you  would  make  impressive  were  you  convers- 
ing upon  the  same  subject. 

Examples. 

Athos,  thou  proud  and  aspiring  mountain,  that  liftest  thy  head 
unto  the  heavens,  be  not  so  audacious  as  to  put  obstacles  in  my 
way ;  if  thou  dost,  I  will  cut  thee  level  with  the  plain,  and  hurl  th^e 
headlong  into  the  sea. — Absurd  boast  of  Xerxes. 

And  David's  anger  was  gTcatly  kindled  against  the  man,  and  he 
said  to  Nathan,  "  As  the  Lord  liveth,  the  man  that  has  done  tbis 
thing  shall  surely  die  ; 

"  And  he  shall  restore  the  lamb  fourfold,  because  he  did  this 
thing,  and  because  lie  had  no  pity." 

And  Nathan  said  to  David,  "  Thou  art  the  man." — Bible. 


EMPHASIS.  75 

The  ravexi  himself  is  hoarse, 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Uuder  my  battlements. 

— Macbeth. 

"  I  tell  you,  though  you,  though  all  the  world,  though  an  angel 
from  heaven,  should  declare  the  truth  of  it,  I  would  not  believe  it." 

O  pro])er  stuff ! 
This  is  the  proper  painting  of  youf  fear  ; 
This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger,  which,  you  said. 
Led  you  to  Duncan.     Oh !  these  flaws,  and  starts, 
(Impostors  to  true  fear)  would  well  become 
A  woman's  story  at  a  winter's  fii-e, 
Authoriz'd  by  her  grandam.     Shame  itself  ! 
Why  do  you  make  such  faces  ?     AVhen  all  's  done, 
You  look  but  on  a  stool. 

— Macheth,  Act  III,  Scene  4. 

"A  Daniel  come  to  judgment!  yea,  a  Daniel! 
O  wise  young  judge,  liow  I  do  lionor  thee !  " 

Speak  clearly,  if  you  speak  at  all ; 
Carve  every  word  before  you  let  it  fall ; 
Do  n't,  like  a  lecturer  or  dramatic  star. 
Try  overhard  to  roll  the  British  R  ; 
Do  put  youi'  accents  in  the  proper  spot ; 

Do  n't — let  me  beg  you — do  n't  say  *'  How  ?  "  for  "  What  ?  " 
And  when  you  stick  on  conversation's  burs. 
Do  n't  strew  the  patliway  with  those  dreadful  /ovs." 

—().   ]]'.  1 1  nl, lies. 

A  thousand  hearts  are  great  within  my  bosom. 
Advance  our  standards!  set  upon  (uir  foes! 
Our  ancient  word  of  courage,  fair  Saint  George, 
Inspire  us  with  the  s])leeii  of  iicry  <h"igons  ! 
Upon  them  '.    Victory  sits  on  our  helms  I 

—  liirhar,!  ITT. 


76 


ELOCUTION. 

Born  for  your  use,  I  live  but  to  obey  you ; 
Know  then — 't  was  I ! 


-Tragedy  of  the  Recenge,  Act  5. 


CLIMAX. 

A  Climax  is  a  figure  in  rhetoric,  which  rises  in  force  and 
dignity  of  expression  with  the  sense,  and  is  productive 
of  much  grandeur  and  effect.  The  rule  for  reading  or 
speaking  a  climax,  is  to  raise  the  voice  progressively 
with  the  subject. 

Examples. 

"  AnJ  from  the  sacrifice,  by  priestly  hands, 
V  Sweet,  spicy  incense,  like  a  voiceless  prayer, 

Floats  up  on  perfumed  wings  to  Mercy's  throne." 

"  Hear  the  loud  alarum  bells. 

Brazen  bells ; 
AVhat  a  tale  of  terror  now  their  turbidency  tells  ! 
In  the  startled  ear  of  night,  how  they  ring  out  their  affright 
In  a  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire. 
In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  deaf  and  frantic  fire, 

Leaping  higher,  higher,  higher, 

With  a  desperate  desire, 

And  a  resolute  endeavor 

Now,  now  to  sit,  or  never. 

By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon." 

"  Yet  this  is  Rome, 
That  sat  on  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her  throne 
Of  beauty  rided  the  world  !     Yet,  we  are  Romans. 
Why,  in  tbat  elder  day,  to  be  a  Roman 
Was  greater  than  a  king  ! — And  once  again, — 
Hear  me,  ye  walls  that  echoed  to  the  tread 
Of  either  Brutus! — once  again,  I  swear, 
The  Eternal  City  shall  be  free !  her  sons 
Shall  walk  with  princes  !" 


ANTI-CLIMAX.  77 

"But  see!  he  has  stepped  on  the  railing,  he  climbs  with  his  feet  and 

hands, 
And  firm  on  a  narrow  projection,  with  the  belfry   beneath  him,    he 

stands. 
.  Slow,  steadily  mounting-,  unliecdinu'  aught  save  the  goal  of  the  fire, 
Still  higher  and  higher,  an  atom,  he  moves  on  the  face  of  the  spire." 

Not  wholly  lost.  O  Father  I  is  this  evil  world  of  ours ; 
Upward,  through  its  blood  and  ashes,  spring  afresh  the  Eden  flowers, 
From  its  smoking  hill  of  battle,  Love  and  Pity  send  their  prayer, 
And  still  thy  white-winged  angels  hover  dimly  in  oiu*  air. 

— Jolin  G.  Whittier. 

"  Hark  !— the  bell,  the  bell  ! 
The  knell  of  tyranny, — the  mighty  voice 
That  to  the  city  and  the  plain,  to  earth 
And  listening  heaven,  proclaims  the  glorious  tale 
Of  Rome  re-born,  and  freedom  !" 

''  Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize, 

Or  both  divide  the  crown  : 

He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies ; 

She  drew  an  angel  down." 

*'  Strike — till  the  last  armed  foe  expires  ; 
Strike — for  your  altars  and  your  fires  ; 
Strilie — for  the  green  graves  of  your  sires, 
God,  and  your  native  land." 

ANTI-CLIMAX. 

This  figure,  the  reverse  of  the  Climax,  im])arts  force, 
beauty,  aiul  ])ath()s  to  language.  Begin  the  jiassage  in 
the  middle  tone,  letting  the  voice  fall  to  the  lowest  tone. 

Examples. 

"Were  I  an  American,  as  I  am  an  Knglislunan,  while  a  foreign 
trooj)  was  landed  in  my  country  I  never  would  lay  down  my  arms! 
— never  I  never  I  never !" 


78  ELOCUTION. 

"  That  fires  not,  wins  not,  weeps  not  now." 

"  Look  to  your  hearths,  my  lords, 
For  there,  henceforth,  shall  sit,  for  household  gods, 
Shapes  hot  from  Tartarus  ;  all  shames  and  crimes ; 
Wan  Treachery,  with  his  thirsty  dagger  drawn ; 
Suspicion,  poisoning  his  brother's  cup ; 
Naked  Reliellion,  with  the  torch  and  axe, 
Making  his  wild  s])ort  of  your  blazing  thrones; 
Till  Anarchy  comes  down  on  you  like  night, 
A.nd  Massacre  seals  Rome's  eternal  grave." 

In  helpless,  hopeless  brokenness  of  heart. 

— Byron. 

"  Down  cloudy  pathways  walks  the  coming  night, 
Casting  mysterious  shadows  in  her  way, — 
Shadows  that  thrill  each  sense  with  vague  alarm, 
More  frightful  for  their  very  nothingness." 

"  Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall. 
And  flowers  to  wither  at  the  north  wind's  breath, 

And  stars  to  set ; — but  all — 
Thou  liast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  0  Death !" 

"  Me  miserable,  whi  ?h  way  shall  I  fly  ? 
Infinite  wrath  and  infinite  despair  ! 
Which  way  T  fly  is  Hell, — myself  am  Hell : 
And  in  the  lowest  deep,  a  lower  deep, 
Still  threatening  to  devour  me,  opens  wide, 
To  which  the  Hell  I  suffer  seems  a  Heaven !" 

O  blessed  sleep ! 
In  which,  exempt  from  our 
Tired  selves,  and  all  the 
Shams  o'er  which  we  weep. 
Toward  our  native  nothingness 
We  sink  ten  thousand  fathoms  deep. 

— J.  G.  Holland. 


PERSONATION.  79 

The  light  of  genius  is  sometimes  so  resplendent  as  to  make  a 
man  walk  through  life  amid  glory  and  acclamation  :  but  it  burns 
very  dimly  and  low  when  carried  into  "  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death." 

— Mountford. 

"  Around  each  pure  domestic  shrine 
Bright  flowers  of  Eden  bloom  and  twine ; 

•  Our  hearts  are  altars  all : 
The  prayers  of  hungry  souls  and  poor, 
Like  armed  angels  at  the  door, 
Our  unseen  foes  appall." 


PERSONATION. 

Personation  is  the  representation  of  the  words,  manner,  and 
action  of  one  person,  or  of  many  individuals. 

This  power  is  capable  of  producing  an  effect  nearly  equal 
to  scenic  representation. 

Examples. 

Ham.     Now,  mother  ;  what 's  the  matter  ? 

Queen.     Hamlet,  thou  hast  thy  father  much  offended. 

Ham.     Mother,  you  have  my  father  much  oft'ended. 

Queen.     Come,  come  ;  you  answer  with  an  idle  tongue. 

Ham.     Go,  go  ;  you  question  with  a  wicked  tongue. 

Queen.     Why,  how  now,  Hamlet  ? 

Ham.  What 's  the  matter  now  ? 

Queen.     Have  you  forgot  me  ? 

Ham.  No,  by  the  rood,  not  so : 

You  are  the  queen,  your  husband's  brother's  wife  ; 
And, — would  it  were  not  so  ! — you  are  my  mother. 

Queen.     Nay,  then,  I  '11  send  those  to  you  that  can  s])oak. 

Ham.     Come,  come,  and  sit  you  down ;  you  shall  not  builge  : 
You  go  not,  till  I  set  you  up  a  glass 
Wliere  you  may  see  the  inmost  j)art  of  you. 

— Shakespeare. 


80  ELOCUTION. 

The  train  from  out  tlie  castle  drew, 

But  Marmion  stopped  to  bid  adieu  : 

"  Part  we  in  friendship  from  youv  land, 

And,  noble  earl,  receive  my  hand." 

But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak, 

Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke  ; 

"  My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers  shall  still 

Be  open  at  my  sovereign's  will 

To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 

Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer ; 

My  castles  are  my  king's  alone. 

From  turret  to  foundation  stone  ; 

The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own. 

And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 

The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion's  clasp." 

Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 

And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire  ; 

And  "  This  to  me  !"  he  said  ; 

"  An 't  were  not  for  thy  hoary  beard. 

Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head ! 

And  first,  I  tell  thee,  haughty  peer. 

He  who  does  England's  message  here, 

Although  the  meanest  of  her  state, 

INIay  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate ! 

And  if  thou  said'st  I  am  not  peer 

To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, — 

Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near,^ 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied  !  " 

On  the  Earl's  cbeek  the  flush  of  rage 

O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age. 

Fierce  he  broke  forth, — "  And  dar'st  thou  then 

To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den. 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 
And  hop'st  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? 
No,  by  Saint  Bryde  of  Bothwell,  no ! 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms  !      What,  warder,  ho  ! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall !  " 


—Scott. 


PERSONATION.  81 

"  And  how  's  my  boy,  Betty  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Boffin,  sitting  down 
beside  her. 

"  He  's  bad ;  he  's  bad  !  "  said  Betty.  "  I  begin  to  be  afeerd  he  '11 
not  be  yours  any  more  than  mine.  All  others  belonging  to  him 
have  gone  to  the  Power  and  the  Glory ;  and  I  have  a  mind  that 
they  're  drawing  him  to  them,  leading  liim  away." 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  said  Mrs.  Boffin. 

*'  I  do  n't  know  why  else  he  clinches  his  little  hand,  as  if  he  had 
hold  of  a  finger  that  I  can't  see  ;  look  at  it !  "  said  Betty,  opening 
the  wrappers  in  which  the  flushed  child  lay,  and  showing  his  small 
right  hand  lying  closed  upon  his  breast.  "  It 's  always  so.  It  do  n't 
mind  me."  — Dickens. 

^*  Helen.     What 's  that  you  read  ? 

Modus.     Latin,  sweet  cousin. 

Hel.     'T  is  a  naughty  tongue, 
I  fear,  and  teaches  men  to  lie. 

Models.     To  lie  ! 

Hel.     You  study  it.     You  call  your  cousin  sweet, 
And  treat  her  as  you  would  a  crab.     As  sour 
'T  would  seem  you  think  her,  so  you  covet  her ! 
Why,  how  the  monster  stares  and  looks  about ! 
You  construe  Latin,  and  can't  construe  that ! 

Modus.     I  never  studied  women. 

Hel.     No,  nor  men  ; 
Else  would  you  better  know  their  ways,  nor  read 
In  presence  of  a  lady." 

"  Men.     You  blame  Marcius  for  being  proud  ? 

Brutus.     We  do  it  not  alone,  sir. 

Men.  I  know  you  can  do  very  little  alone  ;  for  your  helps  are 
many  ;  or  else  your  actions  would  grow  wondrous  single  :  your  abil- 
ites  are  too  infant-like  for  doing  nuu-li  alone.  You  talk  of  })ride  : 
O  that  you  could  turn  your  eyes  towards  tlie  iiajjes  of  your  necks, 
and  make  but  an  interior  survey  of  your  good  selves !  " 


82  ELOCUTION, 

HIGHEST  PHYSICAL  CULTURE.— ORATORY. 

When  the  Mental  and  the  Vital  are  fully  developed,  the 

Moral  predominates. 
The  Art  of  Oratory  is  expressing  mental  thought' by  means 

of  physicial  organs,  and  may  be  divided  into  three  parts, 

Vital,  Mental,  and  Moral. 
The  Vital  is  the  sensitive,  and  sustains;  the  soul  turns  back 

upon  itself,  and  the  organism  obeys  this  movement. 
Head  elevated,  eyes  wide  open,  brows  level. 

Examples  of  the  Vital. 

"  Thoughts — what  are  they  ? 
They  are  my  constant  friends, 
Who,  when  harsh  fate  its  dull  brow  bends, 
Unclosed  me  with  a  smiling  ray, 
And  in  the  depth  of  midnight  force  a  day.'" 

"  Now  is  the  winter  of  my  discontent 
Made  glorious  summer." 

"  I  am  monarch  of  all  I  survey, 
My  rights  there  is  none  to  dispute ; 
From  the  centre  all  round  to  the  sea 
I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 

"  O  solitude  !  where  are  the  charms 
That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face  ? 
Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms, 
Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place." 

"  Young  men  and  women  !  there  is  no  pii;ture  of  ideal  excellence 
of  manhood  and  womanhood  that  I  ever  draw,  that  seems  too 
high,  too  beautiful,  for  your  young  hearts.  What  aspira- 
tions there  are  for  the  good,  the  true,  the  fair,  and  the  holy  !  The 
instinctive  affections, — how  beautiful  they  are,  with  all  their  purple 
prophecy  of  new  homes  and  generations  of  immortals  that  are  yet 
to  be !  The  high  instincts  of  reason,  of  conscience,  of  love,  of  relig- 
ion,— how  beautiful  and  grand  they  are  in  the  young  heart !  " 


ORATORY.  83 

*'  Men  at  some  time  are  masters  of  their  fate  : 
The  fault,  clear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus,  and  Caesar  :  what  should  be  in  that  Caesar  ? 
Why  should  that  name  he  sounded  more  than  yours  ? 
Write  them  together,  yours  is  as  fair  a  name  ; 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
Weigh,  them,  it  is  as  heavy  ;  conjure  \ntli  them, 
Brutus  wiU  start  a  spiu't  as  soon  as  Caesar. 
Now,  in  the  name  of  all  the  gods  at  once. 
Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Caesar  feed, 
That  he  is  gro\vn  so  great  ?  " 

*'  Rouse  thee  up  !  Oli,  waste  not  life  in  fond  delusions.  Be  a  sol- 
dier !     Be  a  hero  !     Be  a  man !  " 

"  We,  ignorant  of  ourselves,  beg  often  our  own  harms  which  the 
wise  powers  forbid  us  for  our  good  ;  so  find  we  profit  by  losing  of 
GUI'  prayers." 

Examples  of  the  Mental. 

The  Mental  is  the  reflective  state,  and  guides ;  the  soul  lives 
outside  of  itself,  it  has  relations  with  the  exterior  world. 
The  Mental  or  Reflective  state  :  the  head  is  incliuedsliaht- 
ly  forward,  eyes  cast  down  or  fixed  without  seeing,  eye- 
brows contracted,  voice  low,  force  dependent  upon  inten- 
sity of  feeUng. 

"  If  it  were  done,  wlien  't  is  done,  then  't  were  well 
It  were  done  quickly  :  if  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch 
With  his  surcease  success  ;  that  but  this  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  lu-re. 
But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time 
We  'd  jump  the  life  to  coino. — But  in  these  cases 
We  still  liave  judgment  here ;  that  we  but  teach 
Bloody  instructions,  which,  })eiiig  taught,  return 


84  ELOCUTION. 

To  plague  th'  inventor :  thus  even-handed  justice 
Commends  th'  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 
To  our  own  lips." 

*'  To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time ; 
And  all  oiu*  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death.     Out,  out,  brief  candle ! 
Life  's  but  a  walking  shadow ;  a  poor  player 
That  struts  and  frets  liis  hour  upon  the  stage, 
And  then  is  heard  no  more." 

"  This  is  the  place,  the  centre  of  the  grave ; 
Here  stands  the  oak,  the  monarch  of  the  wood  ; 
How  sweet  and  solemn  is  this  midnight  scene ! 
The  silver  moon  unclouded  holds  her  way 
Through  skies  where  I  could  count  each  little  star ; 
The  fanning  west  wind  scarcely  stirs  the  leaves ; 
The  river,  rushing  o'er  its  pebbled  bed, 
Imposes  silence  with  a  stealthy  sound. 
In  such  a  place  as  this,  at  such  an  hour, — 
If  ancestry  may  be  in  aught  believed, — 
Descending  spirits  have  conversed  with  man, 
And  told  the  secrets  of  the  world  unknown." 

"  To  be,  or  not  to  be  ;  that  is  the  question  : — 
Whether  't  is  nobler  in  the  mind  to  suffer 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune ; 
Or,  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles. 
And,  by  opposing,  end  them  ?  " 

The    Moral. 

The  Moral  is  the  soul  state,  and  impels,  and  is  most  perfect, 
elevated,  and  sublime. 

Standard  Position. 

Head  thrown  back  in  exaltation,  eyes  looking  to  heaven, 
brows  elevated,  hands  raised  or  clasped. 


ORATORY.  85 

Examples. 

"  How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  him  that 
bringeth  glad  tidings,  that  publisheth  salvation ;  that  saith  unto  Zion, 
Thy  God  reigneth.  Break  forth  into  joy ;  sing  together,  sing  to- 
gether, ye  waste  places  of  Jerusalem !  For  the  Lord  has  comforted 
his  people.     He  has  redeemed  Jerusalem." 

"  They  never  fail,  who  die 
In  a  great  cause  ;  the  block  may  soak  their  gore ; 
Their  heads  may  sodden  in  the  sun ;  their  limbs 
Be  strung  to  city  gates — and  castle  walls — 
But  still — their  spirit  walks  abroad.     Tho'  years 
Elapse,  and  others  share  as  dark  a  doom. 
They  but  augment  the  deep  and  swelling  thoughts 
Which  overpower  all  others,  and  conduct 
The  world  at  last  to  freedom." 

"  Oh,  joy  !  that  in  our  embers 

Is  something  that  doth  live ; 

That  nature  yet  remembers 

What  was  so  fugitive  ! 
Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting ; 
The  soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 

And  cometli  from  afar. 
Not  in  entire  forgetfulness, 
And  not  in  utter  nakedness. 
But  in  ti'ailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  is  our  home." 

"  But  thou,  O  Hope !  with  eyes  so  fair, 
What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 
Still  it  whispered  jiromised  pleasure, 
And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance — hail ! 
Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  ])rolong ; 
And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 
She  called  on  Echo  still  through  all  her  song! 
And,  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  every  close ; 
And  Hope,  enchanted,  smiled,  and  waved  hei*  golden  liair." 


86 


ELOCUTION. 


"  The  world  is  full  of  poetry — the  air 
Is  living  with  its  spirit ;  the  waves 
Dance  to  the  music  of  its  melodies, 
And  sparkle  in  its  brightness." 

Inspiration  and  Explosion. 

The    voice     has    three    diinensioiis,    height,    depth,    and 

breadth. 
A  stronger  voice    may  be    obtained  by  taking   the    third 

position. 
There     are     three     ways     of     increasing     intensity     and 

strength  of  voice,  by  profonnd  inspiration,  explosion,  and 

expansion. 

"  Wliat  ho  !  sound  the  alarm  beUs  !  " 

"  Advance  your  standards,  draw  your  willing  swords ! 
Sound  drums  and  trumpets,  boldly  and  cheerfully ! 
God  and  Saint  George  !  Richmond  and  victory  !" 

"  To  arms  !  they  come  ! — the  Greeks,  the  Greeks  !  " 

"  There  's  a  dance  of  leaves  in  that  aspen  bower, 
There  's  a  litter  of  winds  in  that  beechen  tree, 
There  's  a  smile  on  thee  and  a  smile  on  the  flower. 
And  a  laugh  from  the  brook  that  runs  to  the  sea." 

The  Fervent  Voice. 

Fervent  voice  is  the  language  of  our  inner  nature,  onr 
real  selves,  the  language  of  the  heart.  The  fervent 
voice  represents  the  self,  the  individual,  the  present,  and 
the  present  moment. 

Individuality  is  that  essence  which  goes  from  yourself  to 
another.  It  makes  the  manhood  and  the  womanhood, 
the  brotherhood.  "  David,  the  king,  was  grieved  and 
moved.  He  went  to  his  chamber  and  wept,  and  as 
he  went  thus  he  said, — ()  my  son  Absalom  !  my  son,  my 
son  Absalom !  would  God  I  had  died  for  thee,  O 
Absalom,  my  sou,  my  son  !  " 


SELECTIONS. 


SELECTIONS. 


THE  POWER  OF  HABIT. 

I  remember  once  riding  from  Buffalo  to  Niagara  falls.  I 
said  to  a  gentleman,  "What  river  is  that,  sir?"  "That,"  said  he, 
"  is  Niagara  river." 

''Well,  it  is  a  beautiful  stream, — bright,  and  fair,  and  glassy. 
How  far  off  are  the  rapids  ?" 

*'  Only  a  mile  or  two,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  only  a  mile  from  us  we  shall  find  the  water 
in  aU  the  turbulence  which  it  must  show  near  the  falls  ?" 

"  You  wiU  find  it  so,  sir."  And  so  I  found  it ;  and  the  first  sight 
of  Niagara  I  shall  never  forget. 

Now,  launch  your  bark  on  that  Niagara  river ; — it  is  bright, 
smooth,  beautiful,  and  glassy.  There  is  a  ripple  at  the  bow ;  the 
silver  wake  you  leave  behind  adds  to  your  enjoyment.  Down  the 
stream  you  glide,  oars,  sails,  and  helm  in  j)roper  trim,  and  you  set 
out  on  your  pleasure  excursion. 

Suddenly  some  one  cries  out  from  the  bank,  "  Young  men, 
ahoy  r 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  The  rapids  are  below  you  /" 

"  Ha !  ha !  we  have  heard  of  the  ra])ids ;  but  we  are  not  such 
fools  as  to  get  there.  If  we  go  too  fast,  then  we  shall  up  with  the 
helm  and  steer  to  the  sliore ;  we  will  set  the  mast  in  the  socket, 
hoist  the  sail,  and  speed  to  the  land.  Then  on,  boys ;  do  n't  ])e 
alarmed,  there  is  no  danger." 

"  Young  men,  ahoy  there  /" 

"What  is  it?" 

"  The  rapids  are  below  you  !" 


90  SELECTIONS. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ■  We  will  laugli  and  quaff ;  all  things  delight  us.  What 
care  we  for  the  future  !  No  man  ever  saw  it.  Sufficient  for  the 
day  is  the  evil  thereof.  We  will  enjoy  life  while  we  may,  will  catch 
pleasure  as  it  flies.  This  is  enjoyment ;  time  enough  to  steer  out  of 
danger  when  we  are  sailing  swiftly  with  the  current." 

"  Young  men,  ahoy!" 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  Beware  !  beware  !     The  rapids  are  below  you  !" 

"  Now  you  see  the  water  foaming  all  around.  See  how  fast  you 
pass  that  point !  Up  with  the  helm  !  Now  turn !  Pull  hard  ! 
Quick  !  quick  !  quick  !  Pull  for  yotir  lives  !  pull  till  tlie  blood  starts 
from  your  nostrils,  and  the  veins  stand  like  whip-cords  upon  your 
brow !  Set  the  mast  in  the  socket !  hoist  the  sail ! "  Ah !  ah !  it  is 
too  late  !     Shrieking,  howling,  blaspheming — over  they  go. 

Thousands  go  over  the  rapids  of  intemperance  every  year,  through 
the  power  of  habit,  crying  all  the  while,  "  When  I  find  out  that  it  is 
injuring  me,  I  will  glee  it  up  !" 

— John  B.  Gough. 


LADY  GERALDINE'S  COURTSHIP. 

[arranged    by    SARAH    NEAL   HARRIS.] 

A   ROMANCE   OF   THE   AGE. 

There  's  a  lady — an  earl's  daughter ;  she  is  proud  and  she  is  noble  ; 
And  she  treads  the  crimson  carpet,  and  slie  breathes  the  perfiuned 

air  ; 
And  a  kingly  blood  sends  glances  up  her  princely  eye  to  trouble, 
And  the  shadow  of  a  monarch's  crown  is  softened  in  her  hair. 

There  are  none  of  England's  daughters  who  can  show  a  prouder 

presence ; 
Upon  princely  suitors'  praying  she  has  looked  in  her  disdain : 
She  has  sprung  of  English  nobles,  I  was  born  of  P^nglish  ])easants  ; 
What  was  /  that  I  should  love  her — save  for  competence  to  \)&m  ! 


LADY   GERALDINE's   COUKTSHII'.  91 

Yet  I  could  not  choose  but  love  her — I  was  born  to  poet  uses — 
To  love  all  things  set  above  me,  all  of  good  and  all  of  fair  ; 
Nymphs    of    mountain,    not    of    valley,    we  are  wont   to    call    the 

Muses — 
And  In  nympholeptic  climbing,  poets  pass  from  mount  to  star. 

And  they  praised  me  in  her  presence :  — "  Will  your  book  appear 

this  smnmer  ?  " 
Then,  returning   to    each    other :  —  '•  Yes    our    plans    are    for    the 

moors." 
Then  with  whisper  dropped  behind  me — "  There  he  is,  '  the  latest 

comer !' 
Oh,  she  only  likes  his  verses  :  wliat  is  over  she  endures." 

I  grew  scornfuUer,  grew  colder,  as  I  stood  up  there  among  them, 
Till,  as  frost  intense  v.'ill  burn  you,  the  cold  scorning  scorched  my 

brow ; 
When  a  sudden  silver  speaking,  gravely  cadenced,  overrung  them, 
And  a  sixdden  silken  stirring  touched  my  inner  nature  through. 

I    looked    upward    and    beheld    her !      With    a    calm  and  regnant 

spirit. 
Slowly  round  she  swept  her  eyelids,  and  said  clear  before  them  all, — 
"Have  you  such  superfluous  honor,  sir,  that,  able  to  confer  it. 
You  wUl  come  down,  Mr.  Bertram,  as  my  guest  to  Wycombe  Hall?" 

In  the  ancient  hall    of  Wycombe  thronged    the    numerous    guests 

invited, 
And  the  lovely  London  ladies  trod  the  floors  with  gliding  feet ; 
And  their  voices  low  with  fashion,  not  with  feeling,  softly  freiglited 
All  the  ail"  about  the  windows  with  elastic  laughters  sweet. 

Then  she  drew  me  the  first  morning  out  across  into  the  garden  : 
And  I  walked  among  her  noble  friends,  and  could  not  keep  behind  ; 
Spake  she  imto  all  and  unto  me — "•  lieliold,  I  am  the  warden 
Of  the  song  birds  in  these  lindens,  w  liich  are  cages  to  their  mind." 

Then  we  talked — oh,  liow  we  talked  !     Her  voice  so  cadenced  in  the 

talking 
Made  another  singing — of  the  soul !  a  nuisic  without  bars — 


92  SELECTIONS. 

Wliile  the  leafy  sounds  of  woodlands,  humming  round  where  we 

were  walking, 
Filled  my  soul  with  aspirations  high  as  sky  above  the  stars. 

She  was  patient    with  my   talking ;  and  I    loved    her — loved    her 

certes. 
As  I  loved  all  heavenly  objects,  with  uplifted  eyes  and  hands ! 
As  I  loved  pure  inspirations — loved  the  graces,  loved  the  virtues — 
In  a  Love  content  with  writing  his  own  name  on  desert  sands. 

Then  I  heard  an  earl's  voice  pleading,  for  love's  sake,  for  wealth, 

position, 
"  For  the  sake  of  liberal  uses,  and  great  actions  to  be  done" — 
And  she  interrupted  gently,  "  Nay,  my  lord,  the  old  tradition 
Of  your  Normans,  by  some  worthier  hand  than  mine  is,  should  be 

won." 

What  he  said  again,  I  know  not.     It  is  likely  that  his  trouble 
Worked  his  pride  up  to  the  surface,  for  she  answered  in  slow  scorn — 
"  And  your  lordship  judges  rightly.    Whom  I  marry  shall  be  noble, 
Aye,  and  wealthy.     I  shall  never  blush  to  think  how  he  was  born." 

There,  I  maddened !  her  words  stung  me  !      Life  swept  through  me 

into  fever. 
And  my  soul  sprang  up  astonished ;  sprang  full-statured  in  an  hour  : 
Know  you  what  it  is  when  anguish,  with  apocalyptic  never. 
To  a  Pythian  height  dilates  you, — and  despair  sublimes  to  power  ? 

I  was  mad — inspired — say  either !  anguish  worketh  inspiration — 
Was  a  man  or  beast — perhaps  so,  for  the  tiger  roars  when  speared ; 
And  I  walked  on,  step  by  step,  along  the  level  of  my  passion — 
Oh,  my  soul !  and  passed  the  doorway  to  her  face,  and  never  feared. 

"  For  myself  I  do  not  argue,"  said  I,  "  though  I  love  you,  madam  ; 
But  for  better  souls  that  nearer  to  the  height  of  yours  have  trod. 
And  this  age  shows  to  my  thinking,  still  more  infidels  to  Adam, 
Than  directly,  by  profession,  simple  infidels  to  God. 

"  Have  you  any  answer,  madam  ?     If  my  spirit  were  less  earthly, 
If  its  instrument  were  gifted  with  a  better  silver  string. 


LADY   GEKALDINE's    COURTSHIP.  93 

I  would  kneel  down  where  I  stand,  and  say  — Behold  me!   I  am 

worthy 
Of  thy  loving,  for  I  love  thee  !     I  am  worthy  as  a  king." 

But  at  last  there  came  a  pause.  I  stood  all  vibrating  with  thunder 
Which  my  soul  had  used.  The  silence  drew  her  face  up  like  a  call. 
Could  you  guess  what  word  she  uttered?     She  looked  up   as    in 

wonder, 
With  tears  beaded  on  her  lashes,  and  said  "  Bertram !"  it  was  all. 

Soh!  how  still  the   lady  standeth!    'tis    a   dream! — a   dream    of 

mercies ! 
'Twixt  the  purple  lattice-curtains,  how  she  standeth  stiU  and  pale  ! 
'T  is  a  vision,  sure,  of  mercies,  sent  to  soften  his  self-curses — 
Sent  to  sweep  a  patient  quiet  o'er  the  tossing  of  his  wail. 

Said  he — 'Wake  me  by  no  gesture, — sound  of  breath,  or  stii-  of 

vesture ; 
Let  the  blessed  apparition  melt  not  yet  to  its  divine ! 
No  approaching — hush !  no  breathing  !  or  my  heart  nuist  swoon  to 

death  in 
That  too  utter  life  thou  bringest — 0  thou  dream  of  Geraldine !" 

Ever,  evermore  the  while  in  slow  silence  she  kept  smiling — 
But  the  tears  ran  over  lightly  from  her  eyes,  and  tenderly  ; 
"  Dost  thou,  Bertram,  truly  love  me  ?     Is  no  woman  far  above  me 
Found  more  worthy  of  thy  poet-heart  tlian  such  a  one  as  /.'■"' 

Ever,  evermore  the  while  in  slow  silence  she  kept  smiling. 
While  the  silver  tears  ran  faster  down  the  blushing  of  her  cheeks ; 
Then,  with  both  her  hands  enfolding  both  of  his,  she  softly  told  liim, 
''Bertram,  if  I  say  I  love  thee,    ...    'tis  the  vision  only  sjieaks." 

Softened,  quickened  to  adore  her,  on  his  knee  he  fell  before  her — 
And  she  whispered  low  in  triunqjli, — "  It  shall  be  as  I  have  sworn  ! 
Very  rich  he  is  in  virtues, — very  noble — noble,  certos  ; 
And  I  shall  not  blush  in  knowing  that  men  call  him  lowly  born  !" 

— Mrs.  Browning. 


94  SELECTIONS. 


THE    DEATH    OF    ARBACES. 

Advancing,  as  men  gi-ope  for  escape  in  a  dungeon,  lone  and  her 
lover  continued  their  uncertain  way.  At  the  moments  when  the 
volcanic  lightning  lingered  over  the  streets,  they  were  enabled,  by 
that  awful  light,  to  steer  and  guide  their  progress.  In  parts,  where 
the  ashes  lay  dry,  and  uncommixed  with  the  boiling  torrents,  the 
surface  of  the  «arth  jiresented  a  leprous  and  ghastly  white.  In 
other  places  cinder  and  rock  lay  matted  in  heaps,  from  beneath 
which  emerged  the  half-hidden  limbs  of  some  crushed  and  mangled 
fugitive.  The  groans  of  the  dying  were  broken  by  the  wild  shi'ieks 
of  women's  terror,  which,  when  heard  in  the  utter  darkness,  were 
rendered  doubly  appalling  by  the  crushing  sense  of  helplessness  and 
the  uncertainty  of  the  perils  around.  And,  clear  and  distinct, 
through  all,  were  the  mighty  and  various  noises  from  the  fatal 
mountain  —  its  rushing  winds,  its  whirling  torrents,  and,  from  time 
to  time,  the  burst  and  roar  of  some  more  fiery  and  fierce  explosion. 

As  if  to  aid  and  reanimate  the  lovers,  the  winds  and  showers 
came  to  a  sudden  pause ;  the  atmosphere  was  profoundly  still ;  the 
mountain  seemed  at  rest,  gathering,  perhaps,  fresh  fury  for  its  next 
burst.  The  torch-bearers  moved  quickly  on.  Redly  and  steadily 
the  torches  flashed  full  upon  the  eyes  of  Glaucus  and  lone,  who  lay 
trembling  and  exhausted  upon  his  bosom.  Several  slaves  were 
bearing,  by  the  light,  panniers  and  coffers  heavily  laden  ; — in  front 
of  them,  a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  towered  the  lofty  form  of  Ar- 
baces ! 

"By  my  fathers !"  cried  the  Egyptian,  "fate  smiles  ujion  me 
even  through  these  horrors,  and  amid  the  dreadest  aspects  of  woe 
and  death  bodes  me  happiness  and  love  !  Away,  Greek, — I  claim 
my  ward,  lone  !  " 

"  Traitor  and  murderer !  "  cried  Glaucus,  glaring  upon  his  foe. 
"  Nemesis  has  guided  thee  to  my  revenge  !  Approach — touch  but 
the  hand  of  lone — and  thy  weapon  shall  be  as  a  reed ; — I  wiU  tear 
thee  limb  from  limb  !  " 

Suddenly,  as  he  spoke,  the  place  became  lighted  with  an  intense  and 
lurid  glow.  Bright  and  gigantic  through  the  darkness,  which  closed 
around  it  like  the  walls  of  hell,  the  mountain  shone — a  pile  of  fire  ! 
Its  summit  seemed  riven  in  two,  or,  rather,  above  its  surface  there 


THE    DEATH    OF    ARBACES.  95 

seemed  to  rise  two  monster  shapes,  each  confronting  each,  like 
demons  contending  for  a  world.  These  were  of  one  deep  blood-red 
hue  of  fire,  which  lighted  ujd  the  atmosphere  far  and  wide ;  but 
below,  the  nether  part  of  the  mountain  was  still  dark  and  shrouded, 
save  in  three  places,  adown  which  flowed,  serpentine  and  irregular, 
rivers  of  the  molten  lava.  Darkly  red  through  the  profound  gloom 
of  their  banks,  they  flowed  slowly  on,  as  toward  the  devoted  city. 
Over  the  broadest  there  seemed  to  rise  a  cragged  and  stupendous 
arch,  from  which,  as  from  the  jaws  of  hell,  gushed  the  sources  of 
the  sudden  Phlegethon  ! 

The  slaves  shrieked  aloud,  and,  cowering,  hid  their  faces.  The 
Egyptian  himself  stood  transfixed  to  the  spot,  the  glow  lighting  up 
his  commanding  features  and  jewelled  robes.  High  behind  him  rose 
a  tall  colmnn  which  supported  the  bronze  statue  of  Augustus,  and 
the  imperial  image  seemed  changed  to  a  shape  of  fire ! 

With  his  left  hand  circled  around  the  form  of  lone,  with  his  right 
arm  raised  in  menace,  and  grasping  the  stilus  which  was  to  have 
been  his  weapon  in  the  arena, — with  brow  knit,  his  lips  apart,  the 
wrath  and  menace  of  human  passions  arrested,  as  by  a  charm,  upon 
his  featm-es,  Glaucus  confronted  the  Egyjjtian. 

Arbaces  turned  his  eyes  from  the  mountain ;  they  rested  on  the 
form  of  Glaucus.  He  paused  a  moment.  "  Why,"  he  muttered, 
"  should  I  hesitate  ?  Did  not  the  stars  foretell  the  only  crisis  of 
imminent  peril  to  which  I  was  subjected  ?     Is  not  that  peril  past  ?  " 

"  The  soul,"  he  cried  aloud,  "  can  brave  the  wreck  of  worlds  and 
the  wrath  of  imaginary  gods  !  By  that  soid  will  I  conquer  to  the 
last !  Advance,  slaves  !  Athenian,  resist  me,  and  thy  blood  be  on 
thine  own  head  !     Thus,  then,  I  regain  lone  !  " 

He  advanced  one  step — it  was  his  lust  on  earth !  The  ground 
shook  beneath  him  with  a  convulsion  that  cast  down  all  around  ujion 
its  surface.  A  simultaneous  crash  resounded  through  the  city,  as 
down  toppled  roof  and  pillar !  The  lightning,  as  if  caught  by  the 
metal,  lingered  an  instant  on  the  imperial  statue — then  shivered 
bionze  and  column !     The  ])ro])hecy  of  the  stars  was  f ullilled  I 

The  sound — the  shock — stunned  the  Athenian  for  several  mo- 
ments. When  he  recovered,  the  light  still  illimiined  the  scene,  the 
ground  still  slid  and  trembled  beneatii.  lone  lay  senseless  on  the 
ground,  but  he  saw  her  not  yet:  his  eyes  were  iixed  u])()n  a  ghastly 
face,  that  seemed  to  emerge,  without  limbs  or  trunk,  from  the  liuge 


96  SELECTIONS. 

fragments  of  the  shattered  column — a  face  of  unutterable  pain, 
agony,  and  despair.  The  eyes  shut  and  opened  rapidly,  as  if  sense 
were  not  yet  fled ;  the  lips  quivered  and  grinned ;  then  sudden 
stillness  and  darkness  came  over  the  features,  yet  retaining  that 
aspect  of  horror  never  to  be  forgotten  I 

So  perished  the  wise  magician — the  Great  Arbaces — the  Hermes 
of  the  Burning  Belt — the  last  of  the  Royalty  of  Egypt ! 

— Bulwer-Lytton. 


THE    DUTY   OF    DELIGHT. 

[aekanged  bt  sakah  neal  hakris.] 

In  these  June  mornings,  when  the  earth  is  a  promise  and  the 
heavens  are  a  benediction,  one  is  fiUed  with  a  vital  gladness  by  a 
perception  of  the  glory  and  beauty  of  nature,  and  of  those  inner 
emotions  that  shape  all  ways  to  good. 

There  is  also  a  settled  enthusiasm  in  all  one's  doings  and  suJffer- 
ings,  let  him  but  know  his  choice  is  noble  and  his  work  true,  and 
so  reaps  his  harvest  not  in  the  far  off  issue,  but  in  the  doing  of  it 
now. 

Those  who  sink  under  persecution,  or  are  impatient  imder  sad 
accident,  lose  those  gloi'ies  that  stand  behind  the  silver  cloud. 
Evei'y  accident  is  intended  to  minister  to  virtue,  and  every  virtue  is 
the  mother  of  joy. 

There  is,  indeed,  a  certain  joy  that  underlies  all  faithfulness  of 
thoiight  and  life.  It  might  well  be  called  the  smile  of  God  re- 
flected in  the  depths  of  the  human  spirit.  There  can  be  no  duty 
more  imperative  than  to  win  tliis.  Without  it  compassion  loses  its 
tenderness,  charity  its  power  to  encourage,  and  the  lack  of  it  dark- 
ens the  homely  paths  of  occupation  and  discipline  which  all  must 
tread. 

The  "  duty  of  delight "  sounds  like  the  prevailing  commonplace 
of  a  selfish  philosophy,  that  happiness  is  our  being's  end  and  aim ; 
but  this  is  not  so,  the  delight  we  are  describing  is  not  sought  be- 
cause it  is  pleasant,  but  because  it  is  the  state  becoming  the  heirs  of 
such  opportunities  as  ours,  heirs  of  immortality. 

Cheerfulness  is  the  gold  that  gives  aU  possessions  their  value. 


THE  rajah's  clock.  97 

All  the  hoards  of  a  lifetime  of  toil  are  but  rubbish,  if  care  and.  cun- 
ning have  spoiled  the  capacity  to  enjoy.  There  is  nothing  in  cliar- 
acter  so  magnetic  as  cheerfulness.  There  are  some  whose  very 
presence  is  a  blessing,  whom  to  look  upon  is  to  feel  new  courage,  to 
take  up  toils,  deprivations,  cares,  to  think  hopefully  of  man,  to 
believe  all  noble  achievements  possible,  and  victory  sure  to  those 
who  deserve ;  to  see  a  more  glorious  sun,  and  feel  breezes  from 
the  eternal  hills. 

In  all  the  works  of  art  there  is  one  unmistakable  sign  and  stamp, 
that  of  the  perfect  delight  the  artist  found  in  doing  them.  And 
you  will  find  the  same  stamp  on  every  good  work  of  the  hands,  the 
head,  or  the  heart.  From  this  come  clearness  of  sight  and  every 
form  of  power.  This  dehght  is  in  aU  the  fine  arts,  or  in  the  finer 
art  of  life. 

It  it  the  transfiguration  of  the  character  by  the  mastery  of  itself 
and  its  lot,  and  the  consequent  inflowing  of  the  light  of  God. 

— Samuel  Johnson. 


THE    RAJAH'S   CLOCK. 

Rajah  Balpoora,  Prince  of  Jullinder, 

Reigned  in  the  land  where  the  five  rivers  ran ; 
A  lordly  tyrant,  with  none  to  hinder 

His  wildest  pleasure  or  maddest  plan. 
His  hall  was  beauty,  his  throne,  was  splendor, 

His  meat  was  dainties  of  every  zone  ; 
Nor  ever  a  joy  that  wealth  can  render. 

His  whimsical  fancy  left  unknown. 
For  afar,  in  sight  of  his  palace  windows, 

His  realm  was  gardens  on  every  hand. 
And  the  feet  of  a  hundred  thousand  Hindoos 

Came  and  Avent  at  his  least  command. 
But  one  thing,  wortliy  his  pride  to  show  it, 

Among  his  treasures  eclipsed  them  all  ; 
'T  was  the  marvel  of  sage,  and  praise  of  poet — 

The  wonderful  clock  in  his  palace  hall. 
7 


98  SELECTIONS. 

Brain  and  fingers  of  matchless  cunning 

Patiently  planned  the  strange  machine  ; 
Framed  and  balanced,  and  set  it  running, 

With  a  living  heart  in  its  wheels  unseen. 
Behind  the  dial,  the  ii'on  pallet 

Counted  the  seconds,  and  just  below 
Hung  a  silver  gong,  and  a  brazen  mallet 

For  every  hour  had  a  brazen  blow ; 
And  near,  like  windrowed  leaves  in  the  weather, 

Or  battle  wrecks  at  a  charnel  door. 
Lay  mock  men's  limbs,  all  huddled  together, 

In  a  shapeless  heap,  on  a  marble  floor  ! 
And  when  the  dial-hands,  creeping,  pointed 

The  smallest  hour  on  the  disk  of  day. 
Click !  from  the  piecemeal  pile,  rejointed, 

A  new-made  mannikin  jumped  away  ! 
Nimble-handed,  a  small,  trim  figure. 

Briskly  he  stooped  when  his  work  begun, 
Seized  a  mallet  with  nervous  vigor, 

And  loud  on  the  echoing  gong  struck  one  ! 
Clang !  and  the  hammer  that  made  the  -clamor 

Dropped  and  lay  where  it  lay  before. 
And  the  arms  of  the  holder  feU  off  at  the  shoulder, 
I  And  his  head  went  rolling  down  to  the  floor. 

Dead !  ere  the  great  bell's  musical  thunder 

In  the  listening  chamber  throbbed  away. 
(No  eye  discovered  the  hidden  wonder, 

That  dreaming  under  the  ruins  lay.) 
Dead  as  the  bones  in  the  prophet's  valley, 

Waiting  without  a  stir  or  sound, 
While  the  pendulum's  tick,  tick,  tick,  kept  tally, 

And  the  busy  wheels  of  the  clock  went  round, 
Till  another  hour  to  its  limit,  creeping. 

Its  sign  those  bodiless  limbs  shot  thro', 
And  a  pair  of  mannikins,  swift  upleaping, 

Loud  on  the  echoing  gong  struck  tioo  ! 
Clang  !  clang !  and  the  brazen  hammers 

Dropped,  and  lay  where  they  lay  before, 


THE  iiajah's  clock.  99 

Still  as  the  shells  of  the  sea-floor,  sleeping 

Countless  fathoms  the  waves  below ; 
Still  as  the  stones  of  a  city,  heaping 

The  path  of  an  earthquake,  ages  ago, — 
Lay  the  sundered  forms ;  but  steadily  swinging, 

Beat  the  slow  pendulum,  tick,  tick,  tick, 
Till  lo !  at  the  third  hour,  suddenly  springing. 

Rose  three  men's  limbs  with  a  click,  click,  click ; 
And,  joined  together  by  magic  gifted, 

In  statue  perfect  and  motion  free, 
The  trio,  each  with  his  mallet  lifted. 

Loud  on  the  echoing  gong  struck  three  ! 
Clang  !  clang !  clang ! 

And  as  many  as  each  hour's  figure  numbered, 

So  many  men  of  that  small  brigade, 
Whose  members  the  marble  floor  encumbered. 

Made  themselves,  and  as  soon  unmade, 
Till  at  noon  rose  all,  and  each  one  swinging 

His  brazen  sledge  by  its  brazen  helve. 
Set  all  the  rooms  of  the  palace  ringing, 

As  their  strokes  on  the  silver  gong  told  twcl  -e. 

Rajah  Balpoora,  Prince  of  JuUinder, 

Died.      But  the  great  clock's  tireless  heart 
Beat  on.     And  still  in  that  hall  of  splendor 

The  twelve  little  sextons  played  their  part. 
And  the  wise  who  entered  the  palace  portal 

Read  in  the  wonder  the  lesson  plain  : 
Every  human  hour  is  a  thing  immortal, 

And  days  but  perish  to  rise  again. 
From  the  grave  of  every  life  we  saddened. 

Comes  back  the  clamor  of  olden  wrongs. 
And  our  deeds  that  other  souls  have  gladdi'iied, 

Ring  from  the  past  like  angel  songs. 


100  SELECTIONS. 

THE    MISSING    SHIP. 

It  was  long  before  the  cable  stretched  across  the  ocean,  wh^n  the 
steamers  did  not  make  such  rapid  runs  from  continent  to  continent, 
that  the  ship  Atlantic  was  missing.  She  had  been  due  in  New  York 
for  some  days,  and  the  people  began  to  despair.  ''^  The  Atlantic 
has  not  been  heard  from  yet  ?  "  "  What  news  from  the  Atlantic 
on  Exchange?" 

"  None."  Telegraphic  dispatches  came  in  from  all  quarters. 
"  Any  news  from  the  Atlantic  ?  "  And  the  word  thrilled  along  the 
wires  to  the  hearts  of  those  who  had  no  friends  on  board.      "  No." 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  people  began  to  get  excited,  when  the 
booming  of  the  guus  told  that  a  ship  was  coming  up  the  Narrows. 
People  went  out  ujion  the  Battery  and  Castle  Garden  with  their 
spy-glasses ;  but  it  was  a  British  ship — 'he  Union  Jack  was  flying. 
They  watched  her  come  up  to  her  moorings,  and  their  hearts  sank 
within  them. 

"Any  news  from  the  Atlantic  ?  " 

"  Has  not  the  Atlantic  arrived  ?  " 

"No!" 

"  She  sailed  fifteen  days  before  we  did,  and  we  have  heard  noth- 
ing from  her."  And  the  people  said,  "There  is  no  use  hoping 
against  hope :  she  is  gone,  like  the  President.  She  has  made  her 
last  port." 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  those  who  had  friends  began  to  make 
up  their  mourning. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  the  captain's  wife  was  so  ill  that  the 
doctor  said  she  would  die,  if  suspense  were  not  removed. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  men  looked  at  one  another  and  said, 
"Ah!  it  is  a  sad  thing  about  the  Atlantic." 

At  length  one  bright  and  beautiful  morning  the  gims  boomed 
across  the  bay,  and  a  ship  was  seen  coming  into  port.  Down  went 
the  people  to  the  Battery  and  Castle  Garden.  It  was  a  British 
ship  again,  and  hope  seemed  to  die  within  them. 

But  up  she  came,  making  a  ridge  of  white  foam  before  her,  and 
you  could  hear  a  heavy  sigh  from  that  crowd,  as  if  it  were  the  last 
hope  dying  out.  Men  looked  at  one  another  blankly.  By  and  by 
some  one  cried  out,  "  She  has  passed  her  moorings,  she  is  steaming 
up  the  river." 


THE  LEGEND  OF  EASTER  EGGS.  101 

Then  they  wiped  away  the  dimness  of  grief,  and  watched  the 
vessel.  Round  she  came,  most  gallantly,  and  as  she  passed  the 
immense  crowds  on  the  wharves  •  and  at  Castle  Garden,  the  crew 
hoisted  flags  from  trucks  and  main-chains.  An  officer  leaped  upon 
the  paddle,  put  his  trumpet  to  his  lips,  and  cried  out,  "The  Atlantic 
is  safe  ;  she  has  put  into  port  for  repairs  !  " 

Then  such  a  shout  I  Oh,  how  they  shouted  !  Shout !  shout ! 
shout !     "  The.  Atlantic  is  safe  !  " 

Bands  of  music  paraded  the  streets,  telegraph  wires  worked  all 
night  long.  "  The  Atlantic  is  safe  !  "  bringing  joy  to  millions  of 
hearts ;  and  yet  not  one  in  a  hundred  thousand  of  those  who  re- 
joiced had  a  friend  or  a  relative  on  board  that  steamer. 

It  was  sympathy  with  the  sorrows  of  others,  with  whom  they 
had  no  tie  in  common  save  that  which  God  created  when  he  made 
of  one  blood  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  and  permitted  us,  as  breth- 
ren, to  call  him  the  conunon  Father  of  us  all. 

— John  B.  Gough. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  EASTER  EGGS. 

Trinity  bells,  with  their  liollow  lungs. 

And  their  vibrant  lips,  and  their  brazen  tongues, 

Over  the  roof  of  the  city  pour 

Their  Easter  music  with  joyous  roar. 

Till  the  soaring  notes  to  the  sun  are  rolled, 

As  he  swings  along  in  his  path  of  gold. 

"  Dearest  papa,"  says  my  boy  to  me. 
As  he  merrily  climbs  on  his  mother's  knee, 

"  Why  are  these  eggs  tliat  you  see  me  liold 
Colored  so  finely  with  blue  and  gold? 
And  what  is  the  wonderful  bird  that  lays 
Such  beautiful  eggs  ujxm  Kastt-r  days  ?  " 

Tenderly  shine  the  April  skies, 

lake  laughter  and  tears,  in  my  child's  ])bu'  eyes; 

And  e\QYy  face  in  the  street  is  gay, — 


102  SELECTIONS. 

Why  cloud  this  youngster's  by  saying  nay  ? 
So  I  cudgel  my  brains  for  the  tale  he  begs, 
And  tell  liim  the  story  of  Easter  eggs. 

You  have  heard,  my  son,  of  the  Man  who  died, 

Crowned  with  keen  thorns,  and  crucified, 

And  how  Joseph  the  wealthy, — whom  God  reward, — 

Cared  for  the  corpse  of  his  martyred  Lord, 

And  piously  tombed  it  within  the  rock, 

And  closed  the  gate  with  a  mighty  block. 

Now,  close  by  the  tomb  a  fair  tree  grew, 
With  pendulous  leaves,  and  blossoms  of  blue ; 
And  deep  in  the  green  tree's  shadowy  breast 
A  beautiful  singing-bird  sat  on  her  nest. 
Which  was  bordered  with  mosses  like  malachite, 
And  watched  and  crooned  through  the  live-long  night. 

Now  when  the  bird,  from  her  dim  recess. 
Beheld  the  Lord  in  His  burial  dress. 
And  looked  on  the  heavenly  face  so  pale. 
And  the  dear  feet  pierced  with  the  cruel  nail, 
Her  heart  nigh  broke  with  a  sudden  pang. 
And  out  of  the  depths  of  her  sorrow  she  sang.* 

AU  night  long,  till  the  moon  was  up, 

She  sat  and  sang  in  her  moss-wreathed  cuji, 

A  song  of  sorrow  as  wild  and  shrill 

As  the  homeless  wind  when  it  roams  the  hill, 

So  fidl  of  tears,  so  loud  and  long, 

That  the  grief  of  the  world  seemed  turned  to  song. 

But  soon  there  came  through  the  weeping  night 

A  glittering  angel  clothed  in  white  ; 

And  he  rolled  the  stone  from  the  tomb  away, 

Where  the  Lord  of  the  Earth  and  Heavens  lay ; 

And  Christ  arose  in  the  cavern's  gloom. 

And  in  living  lustre  came  from  the  tomb ! 


WHAT   IS   A   MINORITY.  103 

Now  the  bird  that  sat  in  the  heart  of  the  tree 
Beheld  this  Celestial  Mystery, 
And  its  heart  was  filled  with  a  sweet  delight. 
And  it  poured  a  song  on  the  throbbing  night; 
Notes  climbing  notes,  tiU  higher,  higher. 
They  shot  to  heaven  like  spears  of  fii-e ! 

Wlien  the  glittering,  white-robed  angel  heard 
The  sorrowing  song  of  the  gi-ieving  bird, 
And  heard  the  following  chant  of  mirth 
That  hailed  Christ  risen  again  on  earth, 
He  said, — "  Sweet  bird  !  be  forever  blest, 
ThyseK,  thy  eggs,  and  thy  moss-wreathed  nest !  " 

And  ever,  my  child,  since  that  blessed  night, 
When  death  bowed  down  to  the  Lord  of  Light, 
The  eggs  of  that  sweet  bird  change  their  hue, 
And  burn  with  red,  and  gold,  and  blue — 
Reminding  mankind,  in  their  simple  way, 
Of  the  holy  marvel  of  Easter  day. 


WHAT    IS    A    MINORIT.Y  ? 

"What  is  a  minority  ?  The  chosen  heroes  of  this  earth  have  been 
in  a  minority.  There  is  not  a  social,  political,  or  religious  privilege 
that  you  enjoy  to-day  tbat  was  not  bought  for  you  by  the  blood  and 
tears  and  jjatient  sufferings  of  the  minority.  It  is  the  minority  that 
has  vindicated  humanity  in  every  struggle.  It  is  a  minority  that 
has  stood  in  the  van  of  every  moral  conflict,  and  achieved  all  that 
is  noble  in  tbe  history  of  the  world.  You  will  find  that  each  genei-- 
ation  has  been  always  busy  in  gathering  uj)  the  scattered  ashes  of 
the  martyred  heroes  of  the  past,  to  deposit  them  in  the  golden  urn 
of  a  nation's  history.  Look  at  Scotland,  where  they  are  erecting 
monuments.  To  whom? — to  tbe  Covenanters.  Ah  I  tlieij  were  in  a 
minority.  Read  their  history,  if  you  can,  witliout  thi'  bhxxl  tin- 
gling to  the  tips  of  your  fingars.  These  were  in  the  minority,  that, 
through  blood,  and   tears,  and   hootings,  and   scourgings — dyeing 


104  SELECTIOXS. 

the  waters  with  their  hlood,  and  staining  V.ie  heather  with  their 
gore — fought  the  glorious  battle  of  religious  freedom.  Minority ! 
If  a  man  stand  up  for  the  right,  though  the  right  he  on  the  scaffold, 
while  the  wrong  sits  in  the  seat  of  government ;  if  he  stand  for  the 
right,  though  he  eat,  with  the  right  and  truth,  a  wretched  crust ;  if 
he  walk  with  obloquy  and  scorn  in  the  by-lanes  and  streets  while 
falsehood  and  wrong  rufSe  it  in  silken  attire, — let  him  remember 
that  wherever  the  right  and  truth  are,  there  are  always 

"  Troops  of  beautiful,  tall  angels  " 

gathered  round  him,  and  God  himself  stands  within  the  dim  futiu*e, 
and  keeps  watch  over  his  own !  If  a  man  stand  for  the  right  and 
the  truth,  though  every  man's  finger  be  pointed  at  him,  though 
every  woman's  lip  be  curled  at  him  in  scorn,  he  stands  in  a  major- 
ity; for  God  and  good  angels  are  with  him,  and  greater  are  they 
that  are  for  him  than  all  they  that  be  against  him. 

— J.  B.  Gough. 


PYRAMIDS    NOT    ALL    EGYPTIAN. 

Mankind  is  toiling  for  a  deathless  name.  Various  are  the 
schemes  devised  and  the  plans  pursued  to  gain  this  one  world- 
sought  end — to  rear  a  pyramid  that  shall  not  decay,  but  grow  broader 
and  hifrher  with  "the  roll  of  ac^es."  This  is  the  nucleus  of  the 
world  of  thought.  At  its  altar  are  immolated  the  smile  and  the 
tiar,  the  swell  of  delight  and  the  revenging  throb,  the  sweets  of 
duty  and  the  joys  of  life  and  the  hopes  of  heaven. 

To  give  his  name  to  posterity  Caesar  crossed  the  Rubicon,  and 
Rome  was  free  no  more.  He  built  a  terrible  pyramid  upon  the 
ruins  of  the  "  Eternal  City."  But  think  you  its  vast  height  gave 
him  pride,  or  availed  him  aught  when  the  cold  steel  of  Brutus's 
dagger  rankled  in  his  heart  and  poured  his  blood  on  the  senate 
floor  of  Rome  ? 

To  gain  an  undying  name  Alexander  drew  the  sword  of  con- 
quest, lit  up  the  land  with  burning  cities,  (pienched  their  sighs  with 
tears,  extorted  the  sigh  of  anguis'i  from  millions,  and  then  died 
seeking  to  show  himself  a  god. 

And   Bonaparte,  too,   that  lion   swimming  in  blood,   went  over 


PYRAMIDS    NOT   ALL   EGYPTIAN.  105 

Europe  tying  laurels  on  his  brow  with  heart-strings,  and  ^\^■iting 
his  name  with  his  blood-streaming  sword  full  on  the  thrones  and 
foreheads  of  kings.  The  powers  of  his  mind,  throbbing  in  mid- 
night dreams,  shook  the  civilized  world ;  and  yet  the  delirious 
spirit  of  the  world-wonderfid  warrior,  whose  haughty  star  withered 
kings  and  whose  brow  was  unawed,  whether  his  eagles  hovered 
around  the  Alps  or  shrieked  amid  the  flames  of  Moscow,  died  a 
powerless  prisoner  on  the  lonely  billow-dashed  isle  of  St.  Helena. 

These  have  gained  names  more  lasting  than  Egyptian  pyramids, 
but,  oh !  at  the  price  of  their  eternal  ruin.  Who,  who  can  read  the 
history  of  such  men,  and  then  seek  a  like  immortality  ?  But  is 
there  no  way  of  gaining  a  name,  noble,  glorious,  immortal  ?  There 
are  paths  that  lead  to  fame,  unsvdlied  and  undying,  up  which  many 
great  minds  have  toiled  unceasing  till  death  cut  the  fetters  and 
sent  them  home. 

The  scholar,  astronomer,  poet,  orator,  j)atriot,  and  plillosojilier, 
all  have  fields,  broad,  fertile,  perennial.  The  ruins  of  the  "  Paternal 
City"  "still  breathe,  horn  with  Cicero."  The  story  of  Demos- 
thenes, with  his  mouth  full  of  pebbles,  haranguing  the  bUlows  of 
old  ocean,  will  be  stammered  by  tlie  school-boy  "down  to  latest 
time."  And  after  "  the  foot  of  time  "  has  trodden  down  his  mar- 
ble tombstone,  and  strewed  his  grave  with  the  dust  of  ages,  it  will 
be  said  that  nature's  orator,  Patrick  Henry,  while  accusetl  of  trea- 
son and  threatened  with  death,  "  hurled  his  crushing  thunderbolts  " 
at  the  haughty  form  of  tyranny,  and  cried,  "Give  me  liberty,  or 
give  me  death,"  in  accents  that  burned  all  over  Europe. 

Washington,  too,  has  a  pyramid  in  every  American  heart.  When 
the  serpent  tyranny  wrapped  his  freezing  folds  around  our  nation's 
heart,  and  with  exidting  hisses  raised  his  horrid  coils  to  heaven, 
then  Washington  hurled  a  thunderbolt  that  (h(. ,c  him  back  to 
moidder  and  rot  beneath  the  crumbling  tlirones  of  Europe,  and  sent 
the  startling  echo  of  freedom  rumbling  around  our  broad  green 
earth. 

Has  not  Newton  a  name  among  the  immortals  ?  How  easily  did 
he  grasp  the  golden  chain,  swung  from  i\w  Kternal  Throne,  and 
with  what  intense  i-apture  and  thrilling  delight  did  lie  cliinl)  upwaifi, 
vibrate  through  the  concave  of  the  skies,  gaze  around  u])()n  the 
stars,  and  bathe  in  the  glorious  sunlight  of  eternal  truth  that 
blazed  from  the  centre — Deity. 


106  SELECTIONS. 

Can  time,  or  winds,  or  floods,  or  fire  destroy  Luther's  pyramid  ? 
He  reared  it  by  an  awful  conflict,  more  terrible  than  ever  hung  on 
the  tread  of  an  army.  The  one  carries  thrones  and  empires ;  the 
silent  thoughts  of  the  other  tell  on  the  destiny  of  the  Avorld.  Nerved 
by  the  Omnipotent,  he  stood  up  amid  the  smoke  and  flash  of  cen- 
tury-working batteries  and  thundered  "  Truth"  till  the  world  reeled 
and  rocked  as  if  within  the  grasp  of  an  earthquake. 

Milton,  too  ;  the  wave  of  oblivion  may  surge  over  the  pyramids, 
but  Milton,  who  painted  pyramids  witli  heavenly  glow,  unlocked 
the  brazen  gates  of  the  fiery  gulf,  heard  its  raging  howl,  and  saw 
its  maddening  billows  heave  and  plunge,  will  strike  anew  his  golden 
lyre  in  heaven  when  yonder  sun  shall  stay  his  fiery  wheels  mid- 
heaven,  sicken,  darken,  and  pitch  lawless  from  his  flaming  chariot 
into  the  black  chaos  of  universal  ruin. 

Nor  is  this  all.  A  day  is  coming  when  the  pyramids  built  in 
blood  shall  crumble  and  sink  into  nothingness ;  when  yonder  firm- 
ament shall  frown  in  blackness  ;  when  burning  worlds  shall  fly 
and  lighten  through  immensity ; — then  shall  the  pyramids  of  the 
just  tower  away  in  the  simlight  of  heaven,  and  their  builders  shall 
grasp  the  golden  chain  swung  from  the  eternal  throne  and  bathe 
in  the  gloriousness  of  everlasting  truth. — G.  0.  Barnes. 


GOETHE'S    HAMLET. 

[arranged  by   SARAII   NEAL   HARRIS.] 

You  all  know  Shakespeare's  incomparable  Hamlet.  I  set  about 
investigating  every  trace  of  Hamlet's  character,  as  it  had  shown 
itseH  before  his  father's  death.  I  endeavored  to  distinguish  what  in 
it  was  independent  of  this  mournful  event,  independent  of  the  ter- 
rible events  that  followed,  and  what  most  probably  the  young  man 
would  have  been  had  no  sucli  things  occurred. 

Soft,  and  from  a  noble  stem,  this  royal  flower  had  si)rung  up 
u»der  the  immediate  influence  of  majesty.  The  idea  of  moral 
rectitude  with  that  of  princely  elevation,  the  feeling  of  the  good,  and 
dignified  with  the  consciousness  of  high  birth,  had  in  him  been  un- 
folded simultaneously.     He  was  a  prince,  by  birth  a  prince  ;  and  he 


Goethe's  hamlet.  107 

wished  to  reign  only  that  good  men  might  he  good  without  obstruc- 
tion. Pleasing  in  form,  polished  by  nature,  courteous  from  the 
heart,  he  was  meant  to  be  the  pattern  of  youth  and  the  joy  of  the 
world.  Without  any  prominent  passion,  his  love  for  Ophelia  was 
a  still  presentiment  of  sweet  wants. 

His  zeal  in  knightly  accomplishments  was  not  entirely  his  own;  it 
needed  to  be  quickened  and  inflamed  by  praise  of  others  for  excel- 
ling in  them. 

Pure  in  sentiment,  he  knew  the  honorable  minded,  and  could 
prize  the  rest  which  an  upright  spii'it  tastes  on  the  bosom  of  a 
friend. 

To  a  certain  degree  he  had  learned  to  discern  and  value  the  good 
and  the  beautiful  in  arts  and  sciences.  The  mean  and  the  vulgar 
was  offensive  to  him ;  and  if  hatred  could  take  root  in  his  tender 
soul,  it  was  only  so  far  as  to  make  him  properly  despise  the  false 
and  changefid  insects  of  a  court,  and  play  them  in  easy  scorn. 

He  was  calm  in  his  temper,  artless  in  his  conduct,  neither  pleased 
with  idleness  nor  too  violently  eager  for  employment.  The  routine 
of  a  university  he  seemed  to  continue  when  at  court. 

He  possessed  more  mirth  cf  Immor  than  of  heart.  He  was  a 
good  companion,  pliant,  courteous,  discreet,  and  able  to  forget  and 
forgive  an  injury,  yet  never  able  tj  unite  himself  with  those  who 
overstep  the  limits  of  the  right,  the  good,  and  the  becoming. 

Conceive  a  prince  such  as  I  have  painted  him,  and  that  his  father 
suddenly  dies.  Ambition  and  the  love  of  rule  are  not  the  passions 
that  inspice  him.  As  a  king's  son,  he  would  have  been  contented  ; 
but  now  he  is  first  constrained  to  consider  the  difference  which  sep- 
arates a  sovereign  from  a  subject.  The  crown  was  not  hereditary ; 
yet  a  stronger  possession  of  it  by  his  father  would  have  strengthened 
the  pretensions  of  an  only  son,  and  secured  his  hopes  of  the  succes- 
sion. In  place  of  this,  he  now  beholds  himself  excluded  by  his 
uncle,  in  spite  of  specious  promises,  most  probably  forever.  He  is 
now  poor  in  goods  and  favor,  and  a  stranger  in  the  scene,  which 
from  his  youth  he  had  hjoked  upon  as  his  inlieritance.  His  temper 
here  assumes  its  first  mournful  tinge.  He  feels  that  now  he  is  not 
more,  that  he  is  less,  than  a  private  nobleman ;  he  offers  himself  as 
the  servant  of  every  one  ;  he  is  not  courteous  and  condescending,  he 
is  needy  and  degraded.  His  ])ast  condition  he  remembers  as  a 
vanished  dream.      It  is   vain   that  his   uncle   tries   to   dieer  liim,  to 


108  SELECTIONS. 

present  his  situation  in  another  point  of  view.  The  feeling  of  his 
nothingness  will  not  forsake  him. 

The  second  stroke  that  came  upon  him,  wounded  deeper,  howed 
still  more.  It  was  the  marriage  of  his  mother.  The  faithful,  ten- 
der son  had  yet  a  mother  when  his  father  passed  away.  He  hoped 
in  the  company  of  his  nohle-minded  parent  to  reverence  the  heroic 
form  of  the  departed ;  but  his  mother,  too,  he  loses,  and  it  is  some- 
thing worse  than  death  that  robs  him  of  her.  The  trustful  image 
which  a  good  child  loves  to  form  of  his  parent  is  gone.  With  the 
dead  there  is  no  help,  on  the  living  no  hold.  She  is  also  a  woman, 
and  her  name  is  Frailty, — like  that  of  her  sex.  Now  first  does  he 
feel  himself  completely  bent  and  orj^haned ;  and  no  happiness  of  life 
can  repay  what  he  has  lost.  Not  reflective  or  sorrowful  by  natm-e, 
reflection  and  sorrow  have  become  for  him  a  heavy  obligation.  It 
is  thus  that  we  see  him  first  enter  on  the  scene. 

Figure  to  yourselves  this  youth,  this  son  of  princes  ;  conceive  him 
vividly,  bring  liis  state  before  your  eyes,  and  then  observe  him 
when  he  learns  that  his  father's  sjiirit  walks ;  stand  by  him  in  the 
terrors  of  the  night,  when  the  venerable  ghost  itself  appears  before 
him.  A  horrid  shudder  passes  over  him ;  he  speaks  to  this  myste- 
rious form  ;  he  sees  it  beckon  him ;  he  follows  it,  and  hears.  The 
fearful  accusation  of  his  imcle  rings  in  his  ears  ;  the  summons  to 
revenge,  and  the  piercing,  oft-repeated  pi-ayer,  "  Remember  me !  " 
And  when  the  ghost  had  vanished,  who  is  it  that  stands  before  us  ? 
A  young  hero,  panting  for  vengeance  ?  A  prince  by  birth  rejoicing 
to  be  called  to  punish  the  usurper  of  his  crown  ?  No !,  Trouble 
and  astonishment  take  hold  of  the  solitary  young  man ;  he  grows 
bitter  against  smiling  villain,  swears  that  he  wiU  not  forget  the 
spirit,  and  concludes  with  the  expressive, — 

The  time  is  out  of  joint;  oh,  cursed  spite, 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right ! 

In  these  words,  I  imagine,  will  be  found  the  key  to  Hamlet's  whole 
procedure.  To  me  it  is  clear  that  Shakespeare  meant  in  the  present 
case  to  represent  the  effect  of  a;  great  action  laid  upon  a  soul  unfit 
for  the  performance  of  it.  In  this  view  the  whole  piece  seems  to 
me  to  be  composed. 

There  is  an  oak  tree,  planted  in  a  costly  jar,  which  should  have 


Goethe's  hamlet.  '  109 

borne  only  pleasant  flowers  in  its  bosom  ; — the  roots  expand — the 
jar  is  shivered. 

A  lovely,  pure,  noble,  and  most  moral  nature,  without  the  strength 
of  nerve  which  forms  a  hero,  sinks  beneath  a  burden  which  it  can- 
not bear,  and  must  not  cast  away.  All  duties  are  holy  for  him, — 
the  present  is  too  hard.  Impossibilities  have  been  required  of 
him, — not  of  themselves  impossibilities,  but  for  such  as  he. 

He  winds  and  turns,  and  torments  himself ;  he  advances  and  re- 
coils ;  is  ever  put  in  mind, — ever  puts  himself  in  mind ;  at  last  does 
all  but  lose  his  purpose  from  his  thoughts,  yet  still  without  recover- 
ing his  peace  of  mind. 

I  believe  there  was  never  a  grander  play  invented.  Nay,  it  is 
not  invented,  it  is  real.  It  pleases  us,  it  flatters  us,  to  see  a  hero 
acting  on  his  own  strength,  loving  and  hating  as  his  heart  directs 
him  ;  undertaking  and  completing ;  casting  every  obstacle  aside  > 
and  at  length  attaining  some  great  object  which  he  aimed  at.  Poets 
and  historians  would  willingly  persuade  us  that  so  proud  a  lot  may 
fall  upon  him. 

In  Hamlet  we  are  taught  another  lesson  ; — the  hero  is  without  a 
plan,  but  the  piece  is  full  of  plan.  Here  we  have  no  villain  punished 
on  some  self-conceived  and  rigidly  accomplished  scheme  of  ven- 
geance. A  horrid  deed  occurs ;  it  rolls  itself  along  with  all  its 
consequences,  dragging  guiltless  persons  also  in  its  course.  The 
perpetrator  seems  as  if  he  would  evade  the  abyss  which  is  made 
ready  for  him  ;  yet  he  plunges  in  at  the  very  point  by  which  he 
thinks  he  shall  escajie  and  haj)plly  complete  his  course. 

For  it  is  the  property  of  crime  to  extend  its  mischief  over  inno- 
cence, as  it  is  of  virtue  to  extend  its  blessings  over  many  that 
deserve  them  not,  while  frequently  the  author  of  one  or  the  other  is 
not  punished  or  rewarded  at  all. 

Here  in  this  play  of  oiu's — how  strange ! — the  pit  of  darkness 
sends  its  spirit  and  demands  revenge  :  in  vain  !  All  circumstances 
tend  one  way,  and  hurry  to  revenge  :  in  vain  !  Neither  earthly  nor 
infernal  things  may  bring  about  what  is  reserved  for  Fate  alone. 
The  hour  of  judgment  comes, — the  wicked  fall  with  the  good. 

Wiiliam  Mustel. 


110  SELECTIONS. 

RIZPAH. 

"  Then  King  David  took  tlie  two  sons  of  Rizpah,  whom  she  bare  unto 
Saul,  and  lianged  them  on  a  tree,  in  the  hill  before  the  Lord, 

"  And  Kizpah  took  sack-cloth  and  spread  it  for  her  upon  the  rock, 
"  And  suffered  neither  the  birds  of  the  air  by  day,  nor  the  beasts  of 
the  field  by  night,  to  rest  on  them." 

Rizpah !  her  poor  gray  tresses  all  unbound, 

Each  nerve  and  muscle  held  by  mighty  will, 

Tearless  in  all  her  agony  of  love, 

Guarding  her  precious  dead  against  the  vultures, 

Tossing  her  thin,  bare  arms  with  gestures  wild 

To  fright  them  as  they  wheel  and  circle  low, 

With  flapping  wings  and  harsh,  discordant  cries, 

Eager  to  taste  the  horrid  taste  of  death. 

Hark  !  how  her  frenzied  voice  distm-bs  the  night ! 

And,  look !  how  grief  and  dread  have  marked  her  face 

With  awf id  lines  of  passionate  despair ! 

"  Back  !  back !     Ye  shall  not  touch  one  shining  hair. 
Or  fan  the  poor  dead  cheeks  with  poisoning  wings ; 
Go,  find  your  prey  amid  unholier  things ; — 
Back  !  let  your  sickening  greed  be  elsewhere  fed — 
A  mother  watches  o'er  her  precious  dead. 

*'  Mine  own !  mine  only  !     Why,  alas !  do  I, 
I,  in  whose  sluggish  veins  the  life  moves  slow, 
Still  cumber  earth's  fair  ways,  while  ye  must  die. 
In  all  the  strength  of  manhood's  lusty  glow  ? 
Why  might  not  I  for  broken  vows  atone. 
And  give  this  life  for  thine,  mine  own  !  mine  own  ! 
Heavens !  how  their  senseless  bodies  in  the  breeze 
Float  ever  to  and  fro,  and  to  and  fro, 
Swaying  in  silence,  through  the  trembling  trees, 
Lilie  pendulums,  to  count  my  hours  of  woe  ! 
Hoiu's  crowding  up  from  horror's  dark  abyss, — 
Oh,  patient  God  !  was  ever  sight  like  this  ? 
My  sons !  my  sons !  are  those  the  love-lit  eyes 
Whose  meriy  glances  warmed  my  heart  like  wine  ? 


KIZPAH.  Ill 

Are  tliose  the  cheeks  once  bright  with  life's  rich  dyes  ? 

Those  the  red  lips  whose  sweetness  clung  to  mine  ? 

Is  it  a  dream  ?  or  shall  I  wake  erewhile  ? 

Wake  to  their  living  glance,  and  touch,  and  smile  ? 

They  were  my  babies  once !     They  use  to  lie 

With  soft  lips  murmuring  at  my  love-warm  breast, 

Cooing  sweet  answers  to  the  lullaby 

I  sang  to  put  them  to  their  cradled  rest. 

Listen  !  upon  the  night  winds  clear  and  low, 

Come  fragments  of  that  song  of  long  ago. 

'T  was  this  I  sung, — a  simple,  foolish  strain. 

Yet  babes  and  mothers  love  such  music  well ; 

E'en  now  its  cadence  soothes  my  restless  brain  ; 

I  think  the  angels  sing  it, — who  can  tell  ? 

My  children  loved  it  in  the  twilight  gray, — 

'Tis  twilight  now,  alas !  and  where  are  they? 

Listen ! 

'  Sleep,  baby,  sleep  ! 
The  shadows  softly  creep  ; 
Thy  motlier  shakes  the  dreamland  tree — 
A  little  dream  falls  down  to  thee 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep 

Thus,  night  and  day^  her  wild,  sad  watch  went  on, 
And  none  could  win  her  from  her  loving  task. 
At  length,  the  barley  sheaves  were  gathered  home, 
And  once  again  the  dry  skies  rained  soft  tears. 
As  if  in  sorrow  for  her  tearless  woe  ! 
And  pitying  Heaven  made  man  more  ])itiful: 
King  David's  heart  grew  tender  at  the  sight, 
And,  filled  with  wonder  at  her  mighty  love, 
He  took  her  precious  dead,  with  reverent  hands, 
Enfolded  them  in  costly  cerements, 
Wet  with  the  baptism  of  her  grateful  tears. 
More  fragi-ant  than  all  balms  and  sjiices  fine. 
And  gave  them  sei)ulchre  Avitli  kindred  dust. 
Then  Rizpah's  work  was  finished  ; — she  arose, 
Folded  her  sack-cloth  tent,  and  went  her  way, 


112  SELECTIONS. 

Down  thro'  the  valley  to  her  childless  homo. 
Poor  waiting  Rizpah  !     After  many  days 
Death  came  to  her.      (How  slowly  does  he  come 
When  hearts  are  breaking,  and  are  glad  to  break, 
As  if  he  grudged  the  comfort  of  a  grave !) 

'T  was  twilight  in  the  harvest-time  again  : 

She  seemed  to  slumber  when  she  clasped  her  arms 

As  if  she  held  a  baby  on  her  breast, 

And  sang  this  fragment  of  her  cradle  song : 

"  Sleep,  baby,  sleep  ! 

The  shadows  softly  creep  ; 

Thy  mother  shakes  the  di'eamland  tree — 

A  little  dream  comes  down  to  thee : 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep." 

— Lucy  Blynn. 


CARTWHEELS. 

Poor  little  boy — only  nine  years  old,  motherless,  fatherless,  no 
home  but  the  market  by  day  and  the  street  by  night,  and  no  friends 
in  the  wide,  wide  world. 

"  Dan,"  his  mother  used  to  call  him ;  but  she  died  one  stormy 
night  of  cold  and  hunger,  and  since  then  he  had  been  known  only 
as  "  Cartwheels, "^a  nickname  given  him  because  he  could  turn  more 
cartwheels  than  any  other  boy.  Nobody  cared  for  him,  and  he 
cared  for  nobody. 

For  Dan,  besides  being  errand-boy  and  beggar,  was  a  thief.  And 
yet  he  did  n't  look  like  a  thief :  he  had  beautiful,  large,  honest 
gray  eyes,  and  a  sweet,  bright  smile.  And  if  he  had  been  a  happy 
child  in  a  liappy  home,  I  know  he  would  not  have  been  one. 

But  it  was  hard,  when  faint  with  hunger,  to  have  the  basement 
doors  slammed  in  his  face,  with  "  I  've  got  nothing  for  you." 

But  Cliristmas  Day  little  Cartwheels,  turned  into  the  streets,  had 
wandered  about  all  day,  and  at  night  found  himself  with  just  one 
cent  left  of  the  ten  he  had  earned  the  day  before.  He  looked  up  at 
the  lighted  windows,  and  listened  to  the  merriment  that  came  from 


CARTWHEELS.  113 

every  house,  and  wondered  why  folks  made  such  a  fuss  at  Christ- 
mas, when,  while  he  was  looking  and  wondering,  the  storm  that  had 
been  threatening  all  day,  began. 

A  cruel  storm  it  was  to  beat  so  helpless  and  frail  a  wanderer. 
At  last  he  ceased  to  fight  against  it,  and  flying  from  it,  turned 
a  corner  into  a  handsome  street,  and  crept  down  the  area-way  of  a 
fine  brown-stone  house.  As  he  crouched,  shivering,  a  blast  of  wind 
blew  open  the  basement  door.  Cartwheels  got  up  and  peeped  into 
the  hall.  He  could  hear  music  and  laughing  and  dancing ;  but 
the  doors  were  shut,  and  he  crejit  softly  on  until  he  came 
to  a  room  with  the  door  open,  which  seemed  to  him  so  beautifid 
that  he  stood  like  one  entranced. 

A  cheerful  fire  glowed  in  the  grate.  Lovely  flowers  made  the  air 
sweet  with  their  fragrance.  A  child's  bed  stood  in  one  corner, 
dressed  in  white ;  above  it  hung  the  picture  of  the  Madonna  with 
her  lovely  babe  ;  beside  it  the  child  herself,  a  dear  little  girl  with 
blue  eyes  and  golden  hair,  was  kneeling  by  her  mother.  The  child 
was  in  her  little  white  night-gown,  and  with  folded  hands  and 
shining  eyes  was  listening  to  her  mother. 

"  And  in  some  countries,"  said  the  lady,  "  they  believe  that  at  the 
holy  Christmas-time,  Christ,  in  the  form  of  a  little  child,  comes 
again  to  earth,  and  wanders  about  seeking  for  shelter ;  and  so  they 
leave  the  house-door  open  and  a  bright  lamp  hanging  above  the  gate, 
for  thrice  blessed  will  be  the  dwelling  in  which  he  enters.  And 
they  entertain  every  poor,  homeless  beggar  child  they  meet,  hoping 
the  Beloved  One  may  be  hidden  beneath  the  rags ;  and  knowing 
that  if  the  little  guest  prove  not  to  be  Christ  himself,  still  will 
his  blessing  descend  upon  those  who  befriend  the  sad  and  lonely 
little  ones.  For  Christ  has  said,  'Whosoever  shall  receive  of  such 
children  in  my  name  receiveth  Me.'  " 

"  And  does  Clu-ist  love  all  children  ?"  asked  the  brown-haired 
little  girl,  in  a  sweet  and  reverent  voice ;  "ev'ry  one — bad  girls  and 
boys,  too  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  darling,"  answered   the  mother,  bending  to  kiss  the 

upturned  face ;  "  beautiful  and  sinless  as  our  Saviour  is,  I  think  he 

loves  bad  girls  and  boys  with  even  a  greater  love  than  he  feels  for 

good  ones,  for  he  is  so  sorry  for  them,  and  the  more  wretched  they 

are  the  more  he  pities  them." 

"And  if  he  came  to  this  city  to-night,"  continued   the  wee  maid, 
8 


114  SELECTIONS. 

"  would  he  go  where  the  dirty  beggar  children  and  the  naughty  steal 
boys  are,  instead  of  coming  to  see  me  ?" 

"  He  would,  my  pet.  He  'd  seek  the  starving,  the  deformed, 
those  that  say  wicked  words,  those  that  lie,  those  that  steal,  and 
smile  upon  them  with  a  smile  like  sunshine,  and  kiss  them,  and  tell 
them  the  way  to  heaven." 

"  Bully !"  shouted  a  shrill  voice ;  and  there,  in  the  doorway, 
ragged  and  forlorn,  his  brimless  hat  tossed  above  his  head,  his  gray 
eyes  gleaming,  a  red  spot  burning  on  each  thin  cheek,  stood 
Cartwheels. 

The  lady  started  to  her  feet,  while  the  little  daughter  hastily  rose 
from  her  knees,  and  clung  to  her  skirts. 

"  Why,  my  boy,"  she  asked  gently,  "  who  are  you,  and  where  did 
you  come  from  ?" 

Cartwheels  hung  his  head  for  a  moment,  and  while  he  hesitated, 
the  lovely  little  girl  came  pattering  over  the  carpet  in  her  bare  feet, 
and,  taking  his  hand,  looked  wonderingly  at  him. 

"  He  's  got  nice  eyes,  and  pretty  curly  hair,  if  it  was  combed," 
she  said. 

"  I  'm  Dan.  Cartwheels  they  calls  me,  an'  I  cum  in  from  the 
street,  an' I  didn't  see  nobody,  an'  I  crep  up-stairs,  an'  I  heard 
you,"  looking  shyly  at  the  lady,  "  tell  her  about — about " 

"  The  Christ  child  ?  "  said  the  lady. 

"  Yes  ;  an'  how  beautiful  he  was,  an'  how  he  'd  love  such  chaps  as 
me ;  an'  if  you  think  he  '11  come  to-night  I  'd  like  to  have  him  kiss 
me  ;  an'  please  may  I  stay  a  little  longer  ? 

"  Where  are  your  friends  ?  " 

"  Ha'n't  got  none.  Nobody  's  got  nothin'  to  do  with  me.  I  can 
sleep  in  the  arey ;  an'  if  he  comes  along,  he  '11  see  me  an'  p'raps 
make  me  good,  for  I  'm  a  bad  un  and  no  mistake." 

The  little  girl,  with  tears  in  her  sweet  eyes,  took  both  liis  dirty 
brown  hands  in  her  pure  white  ones. 

"  Mamma,  the  Christ-child  must  have  sent  him  ;  and  what  was 
that  verse — Who-so-ever " 

"  '  Whosoever  shall  receive,' "  repeated  the  mother,  "  '  one  of 
such  children  in  My  name,  receiveth  Me.'  Dan," — the  boy  looked 
up  in  wonder,  for  no  one  had  ever  sjioken  his  name  so  sweetly  be- 
fore— "  you  wiU  not  see  the  dear  Christ  to-night,  nor  ever,  I  tliink, 
upon  earth ;  why,  I  will  tell  you  some  other  time.     But  he  loves 


THE   WRECK   OF   THE   POCAHONTAS.  115 

and  pities  you,  and  sends  you  to  me.  You  shall  stay  here  as  long  as 
you  are  good." 

"I'm  so  awfully  happy,"  he  said.  "I  can't  tell  you.  Some- 
thin 's  stickin'  in  my  throat."  And  then,  after  a  short  pause,  he 
went  on,  with  sparkling  eyes  :  "  I  '11  run  arrants  for  you,  an'  I  '11 
shine  your  boots,  an'  I  '11  dance  for  the  pooty  little  lady,  an'  I  '11 
show  you  wliere  you  kin  buy  the  cheapest  pigs'  feet  in  the  hull 
market,  an'  apples,  cent  apiece." 

The  lady  burst  into  a  merry  laugh,  the  brown-haired  girl  joined 

in,  and  then  Dan  lent  a  shriU  treble  to  the  chorus ;  and  thus  began 

for  the  little  street-boy  a  new  and  happy  life  from  that  blessed 

Christmas  night. 

— Madge  Elliot. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  POCAHONTAS. 

I  lit  the  lamps  in  the  light-house  tower. 

For  the  sun  dropped  down,  and  the  day  was  dead ; 
They  shone  like  a  glorious  clustered  flower, — 

Ten  golden  and  five  red. 

Looking  across,  where  the  line  of  coast 

Stretched  darkly,  shrinking  away  from  the  sea, 

The  lights  sprang  out  at  its  edge, — almost 
They  seemed  to  answer  me  ! 

0  warning  lights  !   burn  bright  and  clear. 

Hither  the  storm  comes  I     Leagues  away 
It  moans  and  thunders  low  and  drear : 

Burn  till  the  break  of  day  ! 

Good-night !  I  called  to  the  gulls  that  sailed 
Slow  past  me  through  the  evening  sky  ; 

And  my  comrades,  answering  shrilly,  hailed 
Me  back  with  boding  cry. 

A  mournful  breeze  began  to  blow, 

Weird  music  it  drew  througli  the  iron  bars; 

The  sullen  ])illows  boiled  below, 
And  dimly  peered  the  stars  ; 


116  ■     SELECTIONS. 

Flung  by  a  fitful  gust,  there  beat 

Against  the  window  a  dash  of  rain  : — 

Steady  as  tramp  of  marching  feet 
Strode  on  the  hui'ricane. 

When  moiniing  dawned,  above  the  din 
Of  gale  and  breaker  boomed  a  gun  ! 

Another  !     We  who  sat  within 
Answered  with  cries  each  one. 

One  glimpse  of  the  black  hull  heaving  slow, 
Then  closed  the  mists  o'er  canvas  torn 

And  tangled  ropes  swept  to  and  fro 
From  masts  that  raked  forlorn. 

And  when  at  last  from  the  distant  shore 
A  little  boat  stole  out  to  reach 

Oiu"  loneliness,  and  bring  once  more 
Fresh  human  thought  and  speech,  ' 

We  told  our  tale,  and  the  boatman  cried, — 
"  'T  was  the  Pocahontas — all  were  lost ! 

For  miles  along  the  coast  the  tide 
Her  shattered  timbers  tossed." 

Then  I  looked  the  whole  horizon  round, — 
So  beautiful  the  ocean  spread 

About  us,  o'er  those  sailors  drowned  ! 
"  Father  in  heaven,"  I  said, — 

A  child's  grief  struggling  in  my  breast, — 
"  Do  purposeless  thy  children  meet 

Such  bitter  death  ?     How  was  it  best 
These  hearts  should  cease  to  beat  ? 

"  Oh,  wherefore  ?     Are  we  naught  to  Thee  ? 

Like  senseless  weeds  that  rise  and  fall 
Upon  thine  awful  sea,  are  we 

No  more,  then,  after  all  ?  " 


JACK   THK   FISHBRMAiSI.  117 

Then  I  heard  the  far-off  rote  resound 

Where  the  breakers  slow  and  slumberous  rolled, 

And  a  subtile  sense  of  Thought  profound 
Touched  me  with  jjower  untold. 

And  like  a  voice  eternal  spake 

That  wondrous  rhythm,  and  "  Peace,  be  still !  " 
It  mui'miu-ed,  "  Bow  thy  head  and  take 

Life's  rapture  and  life's  ill, 

"  And  wait.     At  last  all  shall  be  clear." 

The  long,  low,  mellow  nnisic  rose 
And  fell,  and  soothed  my  dreaming  ear 

With  infinite  repose. 

Sighing  I  climbed  the  light-house  stair, 

Half  forgetting  my  grief  and  pain  ; 
And  while  the  day  died,  sweet  and  fair, 

I  lit  the  lamps  again. 

— Celia  Thaxter. 


JACK    THE    FISHERMAN. 

Jack  was  a  Fairharbor  boy.  He  was  a  happy-go-lucky  fellow ; 
told  a  good  story ;  was  generous  with  his  money  when  he  had  any. 
But  at  nineteen  he  drank ;  at  twenty-five  he  was  a  drunkard. 
When  he  was  a  little  fellow  he  used  to  sing  "Rock  of  Ages  "  with 
his  mother:  he  loved  his  mother.  His  father  was  a  drunkard : 
he  never  meant  to  be  one. 

One  evening  he  hajjpened  to  be  sober.  He  met  a  sad-faced  girl. 
She  was  a  very  pretty  girl,  with  yellow,  fluffy  hair  and  tender 
black  eyes.  She  told  her  story  to  Jack.  He  ))itied  her.  Her 
name  was  Teen,  and  she  told  Jack  she  'd  been  ba])tized. 

"  I  was  n't,"  said  Jack.  ''  I  roared  so  they  dars  n't  do  it !  I 
was  an  awful  baby." 

"  I  should  think  likely,"  saitl  Teen.  "  Do  you  set  much  by  your 
mother  ?  " 


118  SELECTIONS. 

"  She  's  dead,"  said  Jack,  in  a  trembling  voice.  When  he  looked 
at  Teen  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes.     "  Why,  Teen  ?  " 

"  I  a'n't  good  company  to-night.  Leave  me ;  I  'U  go  home  by 
myself." 

"  No,  I  won't  leave  you !  "  cried  Jack,  a  sudden  purpose  lighting 
up  his  soul.  "  I  '11  never  leave  ye  ;  I  'U  marry  ye  !  What  do  you 
say  to  that,  Teen?  " 

Teen  looked  up  into  Jack's  handsome  face.  "  Jack,  dear,  I  a'n't 
fit  for  you."     Teen  sighed. 

"  Do  n't  cry  about  it.  Teen.  You  need  n't  have  me  if  you  do  n't 
want  to." 

"  But  I  do  want  to,  Jack." 

"  Honest  ?     WiU  you  make  me  a  good  wife,  Teen  ?  " 

"I '11  try." 

"  Will  you  swear  to  me  by  the  '  Rock  of  Ages  '  ?  " 

"What's  that?" 

"  It 's  a  hymn  my  mother  used  to  sing.     WiU  you.  Teen  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  '11  do  it.     Where  can  we  find  one  ?  " 

"  We  'U  try." 

So  they  started  out  in  the  gi-eat  city  to  find  the  "  Rock  of  Ages." 
They  chanced  at  last  upon  a  place  known  as  Mother  Mary's  meet- 
ing. They  went  in  and  stood  staring  around.  Mother  Mary 
crossed  over  to  them. 

"  We  've  come  to  find  the  '  Rock  of  Ages.'  "  He  laid  Teen's 
hand  in  Mother  Mary's.  "  I  'm  going  to  marry  her.  I  want  her 
to  swear  by  something  holy  she  '11  be  a  good  wife  to  me.  We  've 
been  huntin'  all  over  town  for  the  '  Rock  of  Ages.'  My  mother 
used  to  sing  it ;  she  's  dead." 

Mother  Mary  began  the  old  hymn,  and  all  the  people  swelled 
the  chorus, — 

"  Eock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee  I 
Be  of  sin  the  double  cure, 
Save  me  from  its  guilt  and  power." 


Jack  tried  to  sing,  but  Teen  hid  her  face  and  cried, 
sang  the  people. 


"  Thou  can'st  save,  and  Thou  alone,' 

« 


JACK   THE   FISHERMAN.  119 

''  Swear  by  that  you  '11  be  a  good  wife  to  me." 

"  I  swear  I  '11  be  a  true  wife  to  you." 

Mother  Malay's  husband  married  them,  and  the  hymn  was  the 
wedding  march. 

Jack  did  not  drink  for  a  long  time.  He  rented  a  little  cottage, 
and  felt  proud  and  happy  to  have  a  home  of  his  own.  Teen  was 
very  happy,  but  it  did  not  last.  Jack  took  to  his  old  ways,  and  his 
wife  to  the  tea,rs  they  bring. 

*  *  *  #  # 

One  night,  after  a  voyage.  Jack  stepped  on  the  wharf  clean  and 
sober.  He  thought  he  would  buy  something  for  Teen.  Suddenly 
he  caught  her  name.  It  may  have  been  said  by  accident.  God 
knows.  It  did  the  deed.  With  head  bent  and  clinched  hands  he 
rushed  into  the  first  open  door.  He  drank  for  hours,  and  reeled 
home. 

Teen  was  sitting,  pale  and  pretty,  in  an  easy  chair,  a  cradle  by 
her  side,  with  Baby  Jack  only  a  few  weeks  old.  She  held  out  her 
arms,  and  said  softly,  "  Dear  Jack !  " 

He  struck  her. 

"  Own  up  ye  've  played  me  false  !     Stand  up." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  and  smiled. 

''Dear  Jack,  I  've  loved  you.     I  have  been  an  honest  wife." 

"I  '11  teach  ye  to  be  the  talk  of  the  wharves !     Stand  up,  I  say." 

She  tottered  up. 

"  I  swear  on  the  '  Rock  of  Ages '  I  have  been  an  honest  wife, 
and  there 's  none  on  earth  or  heaven  can  say  I  have  ii't.  Jack, 
dear,  ye  '11  be  so  sorry.     Oh  !  not  the  pistol !  " 

He  struck  her  down,  and  then  he  stupid.ly  remembered  she  spoke 
of  the  baby.     A  child  waked  and  cried. 

"  Teen,  the  baby  's  crying,"  he  said,  as  he  stumbled  out  in  the 
open  air.  When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  in  a  fishing  vessel. 
He  fished  desperately.  He  made  money.  One  day  he  suddenly 
said  to  a  mate,  "  Rowe,  look  there !  See !  A  woman  yonder  in 
the  water ! " 

"  Nonsense  !  Jack.     I  can't  see  nothin'." 

"  I  tell  you  there  's  a  woman  with  yellow  hair  coming  this  way. 
My  God  !  it 's  my  wife  !  it 's  Teen  !     Heaven  save  me  I   I  '11  never 
drink  another  drop.     Oh,  Teen  !  did  I  hurt  ye,  dear  ?  " 
*  ^  *  *  * 


120  SELECTIONS. 

"Jack,"  said  Rowe,  "there  's  a  warrant  after  ye,  and  the  sheriff 's 
on  the  tug  between  us  and  the  wharf." 

"  What  have  I  done,  old  boy  ?  " 

"  You  Ve  killed  somebody." 

"  KiUed  somebody  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  hope  Teen  won't  know.     I  say,  who  was  it  ?  " 

"  You  've  killed  your  wife !     You  murdered  her !     She  's  dead  !  " 

Jack  sprang  up  the  gangway.     Then  he  stopped. 

"  Boys,  I  bide  my  account  this  time." 

He  turned  away.  Presently  there  started  a  strong,  sweet  voice. 
It  was  Jack's, — 

"Kock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  tliee. 

"  When  I  soar  to  worlds  unknown. 
See  thee  on  Thy  judgment  throne." 

Suddenly  he  leaped.  His  right  hand  pointed  to  heaven.  The 
wa.ter8  rushed  to  greet  him  as  he  went  down,  and  then  closed  over 
him  with  a  murmur  that  seemed  to  say, — 

"  Thou  can'st  save,  and  Thou  alone." 

—E.  S.  Phelps. 


A    LOST    CHORD. 

Seated  one  day  at  the  organ, 
I  was  weary  and  ill  at  ease 

And  my  fingers  wandered  idly 
Over  the  noisy  keys. 

I  do  not  know  what  I  was  playing. 
Or  what  I  was  dreaming  then ; 

But  I  struck  one  chord  of  music, 
Like  the  sound  of  a  great  Amen. 


MKS.    O'SHEA   SEES    HAMLET.  121 

It  flooded  the  crimson  twiliglit 

Like  the  close  of  an  angel's  psalm, 
And  it  lay  on  my  fevered  spirit 

With  a  touch  of  infinite  calm. 

It  quieted  pain  and  sorrow, 

Like  love  overcoming  strife  ; 
It  seemed  the  harmonious  echo 

From  our  discordant  life. 

It  linked  all  perplexed  meanings 

Into  one  perfect  peace, 
And  trembled  away  into  silence 

As  if  it  were  loath  to  cease. 

I  have  sought,  but  I  seek  it  vainly, 

That  one  lost  chord  divine, 
Which  came  from  the  soul  of  the  organ 

And  entered  into  mine. 

It  may  be  that  death's  bright  angel 

WiU  speak  in  that  chord  again, 
It  may  be  that  only  in  Heaven 

I  shall  hear  that  grand  Amen. 


MRS.  O'SHEA   SEES  HAMLET. 

HER  IMPRESSIONS  OF  THE  GHOST  AND  THE  PLAY. 

The  top  o'  the  marning  to  ye,  Mrs.  McAllister.  Faith  an'  its 
glad  I  am  to  see  ye,  for  I  know  ye  are  dying  to  hear  al)()ut  me  visit 
to  the  thayeter  lasht  evening.  There  wuz  a  big  crowd  o'  payple  at 
the  doore,  an'  we  wuz  nearly  crushed  before  we  got  in,  an'  me  new 
bunnet  wuz  puUed  half  off  uv  me  head.  We  walked  uj)  six  pair  o' 
stairs,  for  Pat  said  it  was  more  iristoci-atic  up  tbeer  tlian  in  the 
lower  sates.  The  whole  thayeter  wuz  varry  bootiful  indade,  ma'am, 
all  goold  an'  silver  an'  dimonds.  I  wuz  a  staring  aroun*  the  place, 
when  I  saw  a  big  curtin  on  the  end  begin  to  roll  up,  an'  I  could  see 


122  SELECTIONS. 

right  out  of  doors.  Putty  soon,  as  I  'm  a  good  Christian  woman, 
Mrs.  McAllister,  what  do  you  suppose  walked  along  ?  A  big  ghost ! 
niver  a  thing  else,  the  saints  presarve  us !  I  giv  one  schrame — ye 
might  a  heered  me  up  to  Rocksberry — an'  I  shtarted  to  lave  the  place, 
but  Patrick  grabbed  holt  o'  me  an'  hilt  me  outer  the  cheer.  "  Mur- 
der an'  'ovmz,"  I  hollered,  "  do  ye  want  me  kilt  be  a  ghost  ?  Sure  I 
am  scairt  to  death,  an'  if  he  opens  his  mouth  I  '11  drap  dead  !"  While 
I  wuz  shakin'  an'  gettin'  the  spiral  maginnis  in  me  lift  side,  who 
should  ketch  holt  o'  me  arrum  but  that  desateful  villin,  Perliceman 
Maguire.  "  Ye  must  kape  quiet,  madam,"  says  he,  "  or  lave  the 
thayeter  ;  ye  are  dishturbin  the  orjiance."  "  I  think  they  could  hear 
varry  well,"  I  says,  lookin'  around,  "if  that  red-headed,  cross-eyed 
perliceman  would  shut  his  mouth."  As  sure  as  ye  live,  the  whole 
crowd  wuz  laughin'  at  Teddy  fit  to  die,  an'  his  face  turned  the  color 
of  his  mustache. 

The  ghost  was  gone  before  this,  that  the  soger  and  the  fellers  were 
talkin'  about,  whin  all  at  wance  back  it  kem  agin ;  upon  me  sowl  I 
wuz  all  uv  a  thrimble  jist  to  look  at  the  craytur.  DivU  a  worrd 
did  he  shpake  at  all  at  all,  but  stalked  along  like  ghostesses  do,  wid  a 
shtick  in  his  hand.  In  a  little  while  the  curtin  kem  down  an'  me 
breath  kem  back. 

"  Now  wiU  yez  till  me,"  I  says  to  Pat,  "  phat  the  divil  all  that 
business  is  about  ?  " 

"  If  ye  '11  listen  to  the  play  an'  not  kape  yellin'  and  skreetchin', 
ye  '11  find  out  that  it 's  about  a  woman  who  killed  off  her  fii'st  hus- 
band an'  married  another,  an'  the  ghost  of  him  comes  prowlin'  roimd 
to  see  how  things  is  gettin'  on." 

"  Do  ye  mane  to  insinuate  that  I  killed  Tim  Calligan  ?  "  says  I, 
sthandin  up  an'  puttin'  me  elbows  out  wid  me  two  hands  rehstin  on 
me  hips  like  this.  "  The  Lord  knows  he  wuz  tin  times  as  dacent  as 
any  uv  the  O'Sheas  !  "  "I  wish  he  wuz  alive  now,  tliin,"  said  tliat 
miserable  Pat.  "  Faith,  if  he  wuz,"  says  I,  "  he  'd  thrash  ye  widin 
an  inch  o'  yer  life.  Wish  he  wuz  alive,  do  ye  ?  Shure  he  wuz  n't 
cowld  in  his  grave  when  ye  kem  round  wid  yer  blarney  ;  sorra  the 
day  I  listened  to  ye  ! "  I  wuz  about  to  take  a  handful  o'  hair  out  o' 
Pat's  head,  when  the  most  illigant  perliceman  ye  ever  saw,  wid  cur- 
ly hair  and  shwate  eyes,  shpoke  till  me.  "  The  nixt  act  is  about  to 
begin,"  says  he,  "  an'  if  ye  could  postpone  yer  family  discussions  till 
the  curtain  drops  agin,"  says  he,  "  ye  would  greatly  oblige  me,  Mrs. 


MES.    O'SHEA   SEES    HAMLKT.  123 

O'Shea,"  says  he.  "  Faith  an'  if  it 's  to  obleege  a  rale  gintleman 
like  yei'silf,  I  will,"  I  says.  The  curtain  riz,  an'  there  wuz  twinty 
payple  shtanclin'  around  dressed  iUigantly.  Pat  whispered  't  wuz  the 
king  an'  quane.  Wan  young  feller  seemed  varry  sad,  an'  had  on 
full  mournin',  the  natest  I  ever  saw  an'  me  five  years  a  widdy. 
"  Who 's  that  feller  in  mournin'  fer  ?  "  I  says  to  Pat.  "  His  father," 
whispered  O'Shea.  "  Who  wuz  liis  father  ?  "  says  I.  "  The  ghost — 
kape  quiet !  "  says  Pat. 

When  I  looked  agin,  the  young  feller  in  black  wuz  alone,  but 
sum  of  the  men  what  saw  the  ghost,  kem  in  and  told  him  about  it. 
He  was  all  of  a  tlii'emble,  an'  nothin'  wud  do  but  he  must  go  out  the 
nlxt  night  an'  see  if  the  ghost  wud  come  agin.  Well,  the  nixt 
thing  the  room  seemed  to  go  away,  an'  there  was  the  mournin' 
feller  waitin'  for  the  ghost.  I  med  up  me  mind  not  to  schrame,  but 
whin  the  ould  sphook  kem  movhin'  along,  I  had  to  put  me  two 
hands  over  me  mouth.  Thin  the  ghost's  son  says,  "  Arrah,"  says 
he,  "  vy  the  divil  air  ye  walkin'  round  instid  o'  layin'  quiet  and 
paceable  in  the  cimetery,  where  we  put  ye  ?  A'n't  ye  contint 
wid  wan  o'  the  most  expinsive  grave-stuns  in  the  country,  widout 
bustin  out  an'  chasin'  up  an'  down  the  alley,  scarin'  the  life  out 
uv  us  ?  "  Thin  the  ghost  motioned  wid  his  shtick  for  'im  to  foller. 
The  men  gi-abbed  him,  but  he  shpoke  up  dacent  to  tlie  ghost,  "  I  '11 
foller  ye,"  says  he,  "  an'  if  any  thinks  he  can  shto^)  me  I  '11  make 
him  into  a  sphook  in  four  siconds."  "  Bully  for  ye,"  says  I,  out 
loud  :  jist  then  the  ghost  began  to  shpake.  "  Kape  yer  ears  open  to 
phat  I  'm  tellin'  ye,"  says  he,  in  a  vice  like  the  rumblin  of  a  horse 
car,  "  for  I  must  git  back  to  the  place  all  brimstone  an'  fire,  whei-e 
I  'm  at  prisent  sphending  me  time  to  make  up  for  the  divlltries  I 
did  before  I  kem.  If  I  wuz  to  tell  what  kind  uv  a  picnic  we  have 
down  there,"  says  he,  "  't  would  sind  plows  an'  harrows  over  yer 
sowl,  turn  yer  blud  ter  ice,  an'  make  yer  hair  schtick  up  like  squills 
on  a  parkypine."  "  What 's  ailin'  uv  ye  ?  "  says  the  feller  in  mourn- 
in'. "  I  '11  tell  ye,"  says  the  shpook.  "I  wuz  kilt  by  that  baste  of  a 
brother,  who  is  now  king  an'  yer  mother's  husband."  The  thayeter 
wuz  still  as  a  church,  an'  the  young  feller  wuz  a  sight  to  see  as  he 
begun  to  ketch  on  to  the  racket.  "  Yis,"  says  the  ghost,  "  yer  uncle 
is  the  feller  that  did  the  business  for  me,  an'  I  think  it  showed 
schmall  judgment  in  yer  mother  to  marry  a  murd'rin  villin  like  him 
whin  she  'd  jist  lost  so  dacent  a  man  as  myself. 


124  SELECTIONS. 

"  They  tui'ned  pizen  into  me  ears  whin  I  wuz  sclilapin'  in  me 
hack  yard,  an'  ofE  I  went  widout  sayin'  a  praste  or  havin'  a  chance 
to  ordher  a  mass  fer  me  sowl.  If  ye  're  the  b'y  I  take  ye  fer,  ye  '11 
make  it  hot  fer  yer  uncle,  an'  I  carn't  rest  quiet  in  the  warrum  cli- 
mate I  'm  residin'  in  till  ye  do."  The  sphook  thin  walked  off,  an'  the 
b'y  made  em  swear  they  would  n't  tell,  bekase  he  wanted  to  catch 
his  ould  blaggard  of  an'  uncle  whin  he  was  onsushpictin,  do  ye 
moind  :  thin  the  curtain  kem  down.  "  How  do  ye  like  the  play  ?  " 
says  Patsy.  "  Does  n't  it  make  ye  blush  fer  yer  sex,  to  tliink  of  a 
woman  pizenin'  her  husband  to  git  another  man  ?  "  "  Ye'd  bether 
be  careful  yerself,  O'Shea,"  says  I,  "■  or  the  ghost  of  Tim  Calligan 
wiU  be  walkin'  about  yer  bed  sum  night.  Pizenin'  a  man  is  wan 
thing,  an'  kapin'  him  underground  is  another."  It's  a  long  shtory 
I  'm  tellin',  an'  sure  I  can't  remember  half,  but  the  ould  sphalpeen  went 
into  the  pizen  business  agin ;  he  put  some  on  the  swords  an'  inter  the 
wine.  The  quane  drank  the  wine,  the  fellers  struck  with  the  swords, 
an'  the  ghost's  b'y,  seein'  through  the  game,  shtabbed  his  uncle.  In 
two  minutes  they  wuz  all  dead — an'  uv  coiu'se  that  wuz  the  last  uv  it* 


CLEOPATRA. 

Hei'e,  Charmian,  take  my  bracelets ; 

They  bar  with  a  purple  stain 
My  arms ;  turn  over  my  pillows, — 

They  are  hot  where  I  have  lain ; 
Open  the  lattice  wider, 

A  gauze  o'er  my  bosom  throw, 
And  let  me  inhale  the  odors 

That  over  the  garden  blow. 

I  dreamed  I  was  with  my  Antony, 

And  in  his  arms  I  lay ; 
Ah  me!   the  \ision  has  vanished, — 

The  music  has  died  away. 
The  flame  and  the  perfume  have  perished- 

As  this  spiced  aromatic  pastille 
That  wound  the  blue  smoke  of  its  odor 

Is  now  but  an  asliy  hill. 


CLEOPATRA.  126 

Scatter  upon  me  rose  leaves, 

They  cool  me  after  my  sleep, 
And  with  sandal  odors  fan  me 

Till  into  my  veins  they  creeji ; 
Reach  down  the  lute  and  play  me 

A  melancholy  tune, 
To  rhyme  with  the  dream  that  has  vanished, 

And  the  slumbering  afternoon. 

There,  drowsing  in  golden  simlight, 

Loiters  the  slow,  smooth  Nile, 
Through  slender  paj^yri,  that  cover 

The  wary  crocodile. 
The  lotus  lolls  on  the  water. 

And  opens  its  heart  of  gold, 
And  over  its  broad  leaf  pavement 

Never  a  ripple  is  rolled. 
The  twilight  breeze  is  too  lazy 

Those  feathery  palms  to  wave, 
And  yon  little  cloud  is  as  motionless 

As  a  stone  above  a  grave. 

Ah  me  !  this  lifeless  nature 

Oppresses  my  heart  and  brain ! 
0  for  a  storm  and  thunder. 

For  lightning  and  wild  fierce  rain ! 
Fling  down  that  lute — I  hate  it !      * 

Take  rather  his  buckler  and  sword, 
And  crash  them  and  clash  them  together 

Till  this  sleeping  world  is  stirred. 

Hark  to  my  Indian  beauty ! — 

My  cockatoo,  creamy  white, 
With  roses  under  his  feathers — 

That  flashes  across  the  light. 
Look  !  listen  !  as  backward  and  forward 

To  his  hoop  of  gold  he  clings ; 
How  he  trembles,  with  crest  uplifted. 

And  shi'ieks  as  he  madly  swings ! 


126  SELECTIONS. 

0  cockatoo,  shriek  for  Antony ! 

Cry  "  Come,  my  love,  come  home  !  " 
Shriek  "  Antony  !  Antony  !  Antony  !  " 
Till  he  hears  you  even  in  Rome. 

There — leave  me,  and  take  from  my  chamber 

That  stujiid  little  gazelle, 
With  its  bright  black  eyes  so  meaningless, 

And  its  silly,  tinkling  bell ! 
Take  him — my  nerves  he  vexes — 

The  thing  without  blood  or  brain, 
Or,  by  the  body  of  Isis, 

I  '11  snap  his  neck  in  twain  ! 

1  will  lie  and  dream  of  the  past  time, 

-^ons  of  thought  away, 
And  through  the  jungle  of  memory 

Loosen  my  fancy  to  play ; 
When,  a  smooth  and  velvety  tiger, 

Ribbed  with  yellow  and  black, 
Supple  and  cushion-footed, 

I  wandered  where  never  the  track 
Of  a  hmnan  creature  had  rustled 

The  silence  of  mighty  woods, 
And  fierce  in  a  tyrannous  freedom, 

I  knew  but  the  law  of  my  moods. 
The  elephant,  trumpeting,  started 

When  he  lieard  my  footstfeps  near. 
And  the  spotted  giraffes  fled  wildly 

In  a  yellow  cloud  of  fear. 
I  sucked  in  the  noontide  splendor 

Quivering  along  the  glade, 
Or  yawning,  panting,  and  dreaming, 

Basked  in  the  Tamarisk  shade. 
Till  I  heard  my  wild  mate  roaring 

As  the  shadows  of  night  came  on 
To  brood  in  the  trees'  thick  branches, 

And  the  shadow  of  sleep  was  gone : 
Then  I  roused  and  roared  in  answer. 

And  unsheathed  from  my  cushioned  feet 


CLEOPATRA.  127 

My  curving  claws,  and  stretched  me, 

And  wandered  my  mate  to  greet. 
We  toyed  in  the  amber  moonlight 

Upon  the  warm  flat  sand, 
And  struck  at  each  other  our  massive  arms — 

How  powerful  he  was,  and  grand ! 
His  yellow  eyes  flashed  fiercely 

As  he  crouched  and  gazed  at  me, 
And  his  quivering  tail,  like  a  serpent, 

Twitched  curving  nervously. 
Then  like  a  storm  he  seized  me 

With  a  wild,  triumphant  cry  ; 
And  we  met  as  two  clouds  in  heaven 

When  the  thunders  before  them  fly. 

Often  another  suitor — 

For  I  was  flexile  and  fair — 
Fought  for  me  in  the  moonlight, 

While  I  lay  crouching  there. 
Till  his  blood  was  drained  by  the  desert, 

And,  ruffled  with  triuni])h  and  power, 
He  licked  me,  and  lay  beside  me 

To  breathe  him  a  vast  half -hour ; 

That  was  a  life  to  live  for ! 

Not  this  weak  human  life, 
With  its  frivolous,  bloodless  passions. 

Its  poor  and  petty  strife ! 
Come  to  my  arms,  my  hero  ! 

The  shadows  of  twilight  grow, 
And  the  tiger's  ancient  fierceness 

In  my  veins  begins  to  flow. 
Come  not  cringing  to  sue  me ! 

Take  me  with  triuni))li  and  j)ower, 
As  a  warrior  storms  a  fortress ! 

I  will  not  shrink,  or  cower. 
Come  as  you  came  in  the  desert, 

Ere  we  were  women  and  men, 
When  the  tiger  passions  were  in  us, 

And  love  as  you  loved  me  tlien  ! 

—  Will 'id  III    W.  Story. 


128  SELECTIONS. 

HOW  GRANDMA   DANCED. 

Grandma  told  me  all  about  it, — 

Told  me  so  I  could  n't  doubt  it, — 

How  she  danced — my  grandma  danced — 

Long  ago ; 
How  she  held  her  pretty  head. 
How  her  dainty  skirt  she  spread, 
How  she  turned  her  little  toes — 
SmUing  little  human  rose ! 

Long  ago. 

Grandma's  bail"  was  bright  and  sunny, 
Dimpled  cheek,  too — ah,  how  funny! 
Really,  quite  a  pretty  girl, 

Long  ago. 
Bless  her !  why,  she  wears  a  cap, 
Grandma  does,  and  takes  a  nap 
Every  single  day ;  and  yet 
Grandma  danced  the  minuet. 

Long  ago. 

Now  she  sits  there  rocking,  rocking, 
Always  knitting  grandpa's  stocking, 
(Every  girl  was  taught  to  knit 

Long  ago) ; 
Yet  her  figure  is  so  neat, 
I  can  almost  see  her  now 
Bending  to  her  partner's  bow, 

Long  ago. 

Grandma  says  our  modern  jumping. 
Hopping,  rushing,  whirling,  bumping, 
Would  have  shocked  the  gentle  folk. 

Long  ago. 
No — they  moved  with  stately  grace, 
Everything  in  proper  place  ; 
Gliding  slowly  forward,  then 
Slowly  courtesying  back  again, 

Long  ago. 


THE  king's  favorite.  129 

Modern  ways  are  quite  alarming, 
Grandma  says ;  but  boys  were  charming- 
Girls  and  boys  I  mean,  of  course — 

Long  ago. 
Bravely  modest,  grandly  shy — 
What  if  all  of  us  shoidd  try 
Just  to  feel  like  those  who  met 
In  their  graceful  minuet, 

Long  ago  ? 

With  the  minuet  in  fashion, 
Who  could  fly  into  a  passion  ? 
All  would  wear  the  calm  they  wore 
4>         Long  ago. 
In  time  to  come,  if  I  perchance 
Should  tell  my  grandchild  of  our  dance, 
I  should  I'eally  like  to  say 
"We  did,  dear,  in  some  such  way, 
Long  ago." 

— Daughters  of  America. 


THE  KINGS  FAVORITE. 

Far  in  the  briglit  East,  so  the  story  says, 

There  lived  a  fair  slave  once  who  loved  a  king ; 
Who  followed  soft,  like  music  on  his  ways, 

And  at  his  feet  cast  many  an  offering. 
And  he,  the  king,  was  gracious.      For  a  while 

Honors  he  heaped  upon  that  loving  one, 
Till  a  new  favorite  cluirmed  him ;  tlien  his  smile 

Faded,  and  left  the  heart  shorn  of  its  sun. 
Nay,  more !     Grown  weary  of  beholding  near 

The  face  of  her  who  all  too  freely  gave, 
He  cried  unto  her  suddenly,  "One  dear 

And  precious  gift  hast  thou  withheld,  O  slave." 
"Name  it,  O  master,"  answered  she  full  low, 

"  For  love  hath  left  me  beggared."     Then  straightway, 
9 


130  SELECTIONS. 

Smiling,  he  asked,  "  Wilt  thou  yield  life  and  go 
For  love  of  me  among  the  dead  to-day  ?  " 

"  For  love  of  thee,"  she  whispered,  "yea,  O  king  : 
Since  lesser  gifts  1  gave  thee,  now  shall  I 

Refuse  thy  heart  this  royal  offering  ? 
Happy  thy  slave  is  at  thy  feet  to  die." 

Then  flashed  the  swift  blade  downward — but,  meanwhile, 

The  king's  new  favorite  had  forgot  to  smile  ! 

So  runs  the  story  of  old  days.     And  now 

While  we  sit  here,  and  heaven  sliines  blue  above, 
My  heart  has  its  misgivings,  and  somehow 

I  think  of  her  whom  once  you  used  to  love. 
You  tell  me  you  forget  her  ;  but,  alas  !  # 

Hers  was  a  noble  natm-e  to  forego 
All  life  held  dear.     To  die,  and  let  you  pass 

Free  in  the  sun,  because  she  loved  you  so. 
And  yet,  despite  of  this,  you  laugh  and  jest, 

And  breathe  the  old  vows  over  unto  me, 
Her  rival — yea,  for  whom  at  your  behest 

She  passed  into  the  great  immensity. 
She  is  avenged ;  for,  knowing  what  I  do, 

Life's  sweetest  joys  are  poisoned.     When  you  speak, 
Or  wake  the  music  of  lost  days  anew, 

Whisper  soft  speeches,  kiss  my  fevered  cheek, 
I  do  recall  her  history — and  meanwhile. 
Like  the  king's  favorite,  I  forget  to  smile. 

— Eloira  S.  Miller. 


THE  CHARIOT  RACE. 

[feom    hen   IIUI{.] 

The  trumpet  sounded  short  and  sharp.  The  gate-keepers  threw 
the  stalls  open.  First  came  the  mounted  attendants  of  the  chariot- 
eers, five  in  aU,  Ben  Hur  having  rejected  the  service.  The  chalk 
line  was  lowered  to  let  them  pass,  then  raised  again.  The  gate- 
keepers  called   their  men.     Instantly  the    ushers   on  the    balcony 


THK    CHAiaOT    RACE.  131 

waved  their  hands,  and  shouted  Avith  all  their  strength, — "  Down ! 
Down ! " 

As  well  have  whistled  to  stay  a  storm. 

Forth  from  each  stall,  like  missiles  in  a  volley  from  so  many 
guns,  rushed  the  six  fours  ;  and  up  the  vast  assemblage  rose,  elec- 
trified and  irrepressible,  and,  lea])ing  ixpon  the  benches,  filled  the 
circus  and  the  air  above  it  with  yells  and  screams.  The  competitors 
were  now  under  full  view  from  nearly  every  part  of  the  circus,  yet 
the  race  was  not  begun  ;  tliey  had  first  to  make  successfully  the 
chalk  line. 

The  arena  swam  in  a  dazzle  of  light ;  yet  each  driver  looked  fixst 
for  the  rope,  then  for  the  coveted  inner  line.  So,  all  six  aiming  at 
the  same  point  and  speeding  furiously,  a  collision  seemed  inevitable. 
Quick  the  eye,  steady  the  hand,  and  unerring  the  judgment 
required. 

The  competitors  have  started,  each  on  the  shortest  line,  for  the 
position  near  the  wall.  The  fours  neared  the  rope  together.  Then 
the  trumpeter  blew  vigorously  a  signal.  The  judges  dropped  the 
rope,  and  not  an  instant  too  soon,  for  the  hoof  of  one  of  Messala's 
horses  struck  it  as  it  fell.  Nothing  daunted,  the  Roman  shook  out 
his  long  lash,  loosed  the  reins,  leaned  forward,  and,  with  a  tri- 
umphant shout,  took  the  wall. 

"  Jove  with  us !  Jove  with  us  ! "  yelled  all  the  Roman  faction  in 
a  frenzy  of  delight. 

On  swept  the  Corinthian,  on  the  Byzantine,  on  the  Sidonian. 

"A  hundred  sestertii  on  the  Jew  !  "  cried  Sanballat. 

"  Taken  !  "  answered  Drusus. 

Ben  Hur  was  to  the  front,  coursing  freely  forwartl  along  with 
the  Roman. 

The  race  was  on,  the  souls  of  the  racers  were  in  it ;  over  them 
bent  the  myriads.  When  the  race  began  Ben  Hur  was  on  the 
extreme  left  of  the  six.  When  not  half  way  across  the  arena,  he 
saw  that  Messala's  rush  would,  if  there  was  no  collision  and  the 
ro])e  fell,  give  him  the  wall. 

The  rope  fell,  and  all  the  fours  hut  Ben  Hur's  si)rang  into  the 
course  under  urgency  of  voice  and  lash,  lien  Hur  drew  to  the 
right,  and  darted  across  the  trails  of  his  opponents,  swept  around 
antl  took  the  course  on  the  outside,  neck  and  neck  witli  Messala. 
The  two  neared  the  secontl   goal.     Viewed    from   the  west,  was   a 


132  SELECTIONS. 

stone  wall  in  the  form  of  a  half-circlp.  A  successful  turn  at  this 
point  was  the  most  telling  test  of  the  charioteer.  A  hush  fell  over 
all  the  circus.  At  this  critical  moment,  Messala,  whirling  liis  lash 
with  practised  hand,  caught  the  Arabs  of  Ben  Hur  a  cut  the  like  of 
which  they  had  never  known,  simultaneously  shouting, — *■'  Down, 
Eros  !  up,  Mars  !  " 

Involuntarily,  down  from  the  balcony,  as  thunder  falls,  burst  the 
indignant  cry  of  the  spectators. 

Forward  sprang  the  affrighted  Arabs  as  with  one  impulse,  and 
forward  leaped  the  car.  No  hand  had  ever  been  laid  upon  them 
except  in  love. 

Where  obtained  Ben  Hur  the  large  hand  and  mighty  grip  which 
helped  him  now  so  well?  Where  but  from  the  oar  with  which  so 
long  he  fought  the  sea !  And  what  was  the  spring  of  the  floor 
under  his  feet,  to  the  dizzy,  eccentric  lurch  with  which,  in  old  times, 
the  trembling  ship  yielded  to  the  beat  of  the  staggering  billows, 
drunk  with  power?  So  he  kept  his  place,  and  gave  the  four  free 
rein,  and,  calling  to  them  in  soothing  voice,  tried  merely  to  guide 
them  round  the  dangerous  turn ;  and  before  the  fever  of  the  people 
began  to  abate,  he  had  back  the  mastery.  On  appi'oaching  the  first 
goal,  he  was  again  side  by  side  with  Messala. 

Gradually  the  speed  had  been  quickened  ;  gradually  the  blood  of 
the  competitors  warmed  with  the  work.  INIen  and  beasts  seemed  to 
know  alike  that  the  final  crisis  was  near.  Messala  throws  loose  the 
rein,  while  Ben  Hur  throws  all  his  weight  on  the  bits.  One  ball 
and  one  dolphin  remained  on  the  entablatm-e,  and  all  the  people 
drew  a  long  breath,  for  the  beginning  of  the  end  was  at  hand. 
"Ben  Hur!"  "Ben  Hur  !  "  shout  the  throng.  "Speed  thee,  Jew! 
Take  the  v/all  now — now  or  never !  "  At  the  second  goal  there 
was  still  no  change. 

And  now  to  make  the  turn,  Messala  began  to  draw  in  his  left 
hand  steeds.  On  the  three  pillars,  only  six  hundred  feet  away, 
were  fame,  increase  of  fortune,  and  a  triumjjh  ineffably  sweet  by 
hate,  all  in  store  for  him. 

Ben  Hur  leaned  over  his  Arabs  and  gave  them  the  reins.  Out 
flew  the  many  folded  lash  in  his  hand,  and  over  the  backs  of  the 
startled  steeds  it  writhed  and  hissed,  and  hissed  and  writhed,  again 
and  again  ;  though  it  fell  not,  there  were  both  sting  and  menace  in 
its  quick  report.     Instantly,  not  one,  but  this  four  as  one,  answered 


BUGLE  SOXG.  133 

with  a  leap  that  launched  them  along  side  the  Roman's  car.  The 
four  were  close  outside  Messala's  outer  wheel,  Ben  Hur's  inner 
wheel  behind  the  other's  car.  He  turned  to  the  left,  and,  with  the 
iron-shod  point  of  his  axle  crushed  the  wheel  of  Messala.  A  loud 
crash  sent  a  thrill  through  the  circus. 

Down  on  its  right  side  topjiled  the  bed  of  the  Roman's  chariot. 
There  was  a  rebound  as  the  axle  hit  the  hard  earth ;  another  and 
another ;  then  the  car  went  to  pieces,  and  Messala,  entangled  in 
the  reins,  pitched  headlong  forward. 

The  people  arose,  leaped  ujjon  the  benches,  and  shouted  and 
screamed,  but  far  the  greater  number  followed  the  career  of  Ben 
Hur,  whose  maddening  energy  of  action  had  so  suddenly  inspired 
his  Arabs,  and  so  unexpectedly  vanquished  his  enemy.  The  thou- 
sands on  the  benches  had  not  seen  the  cunning  touch  of  the  reins 
by  which  he  had  been  able  to  overthrow  Messala,  but  they  had  seen 
the  transformation  of  the  man,  and  above  the  noises  of  the  race 
they  had  heard  one  voice,  and  that  Ben  Hur's.  In  the  old  Aramaic, 
as  the  Sheik  himself,  he  had  called  to  the  Arabs : 

"  On,  Atair !  On,  Rigel !  What,  Antares  !  dost  thou  linger  now  ? 
Good  horse — oho,  Aldebaran !  I  hear  them  singing  in  the  tents.  I 
hear  them  singing  in  the  tents — singing  of  the  stars,  of  Atair, 
Antares,  Rigel,  Aldebaran,  and  Victory ! "  Ben  Hur  turned  the 
first  goal  and  won  the  race. 

— Lew   Wallace. 


BUGLE  SONG. 

The  splendor  falls  on  castle  walls 
And  snowy  sunnuits  old  in  story  : 

Tjie  long  light  shakes  aci-oss  the  lakes. 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory. 

Blow,  bugle,  blow — set  the  wild  echoes  flying; 

Blow,  bugle — answer,  echoes, 
Dying — dying — dying. 

Oh,  hark  !  Oh,  hear !  how  thin  and  clear, 
And  thinner,  clearer,  farther  going: 

Oh!  sweet  and  far  from  di'V  and  scar 
The  horns  of  Elfland  faintly  blowing! 


134  SELECTIONS. 

Blow — let  us  heai-  the  purple  glens  replying ; 
Blow,  bugle — answer,  echoes, 
Dying — (lying — dying. 

Oh,  love  !  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky  ; 

They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river  : 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 

And  live  forever  and  forever. 
Blow,  bugle,  blow — set  the  wild  echoes  flying ; 

And  answer,  echoes,  answer, 
Dying— dying— dying. 


THE  FAMINE. 

O  the  long  and  dreary  winter ! 

0  the  cold  and  cruel  winter ! 

Ever  deeper,  deeper,  deeper. 

Fell  the  covering  snow,  and  drifted 

Through  the  forest,  round  the  village. 

Hardly  from  his  buried  wigwam 
Could  the  hunter  force  a  passage : 
Vainly  walked  he  through  the  forest, 
Sought  for  bird  or  beast  and  found  none. 
In  the  snow  beheld  no  footprints: 
In  the  ghastly,  gleaming  forest. 
Fell,  and  could  not  rise  from  weakness, 
Perished  there  from  cold  and  hunger. 

O  the  famine  and  the  fever! 

0  the  wailing  of  the  children! 

0  the  anguish  of  the  women! 
Into  Hiawatha's  wigwam 
Came  two  other  guests  as  silent 
As  the  ghosts  were. 
And  the  foremost  said, — "  Behold  me  ! 
I  am  Famine,  Bukadawin !  " 
And  the  other  said, — "  Behold  me ! 
I  am  Fever,  Ahkosewin !  " 


THE    FAMINE.  135 


And  the  lovely  Minnehaha 
Shuddered  as  they  looked  upon  her, 
Lay  down  on  her  bed  in  silence. 
Hid  her  face,  but  made  no  answer 
At  the  fearful  words  they  uttered. 

Forth  into  the  empty  forest 
Rushed  the  maddened  Hiawatha : 

"Gitche  Manito,  the  Mighty! 
Give  your  cliildren  food,  O  father! 
Give  me  food  for  Minnehaha: 
For  my  dying  Minnehaha!" 

Through  that  far-resounding  forest 
Rang  that  cry  of  desolation, 
But  there  came  no  other  answer 
Than  the  echo  of  his  crying, 
Than  the  eclio  of  the  woodlands 
"  Minnehaha !  Minnehaha !  " 

In  the  wigwam  with  Nokomis, 
She  was  lying,  the  beloved, 
She  the  dying  Minnehaha. 
"  Hark !  "  she  said ;   "  I  hear  a  rushing, 
Hear  the  Falls  of  Minnehaha 
Calling  to  me  from  a  distanc^! " 
"No,  my  child,"  said  old  Nokomis, 
"'Tis  the  night-wind  in  the  pine  trees." 
"Ah!"  she  said,  "the  eyes  of  Pauguk 
Glare  upon  me  in  the  darkness ; 
I  can  feel  his  icy  fingers 
Clasping  mine  amid  the  darkness! 
Hiawatha !  Hiawatha !  " 

And  the  desolate  Hiawatha, 

Far  away  amid  the  forest, 
Heard  the  sudden  cry  of  anguish, 
Heard  the  voice  of  Minnehaha 
Calling  to  him  in  the  darkness 

"  Hiawatha  !  Hiawatha  !  " 


186  SELECTIONS. 

Over  snowfields,  waste  and  pathless, 
Homeward  hurried  Hiawatha. 
And  he  rushed  into  the  wigwam, 
Saw  his  lovely  Minnehaha 
Lying  cold  and  dead  before  iiim, 
And  his  bursting  heart  within  him, 
Uttered  such  a  cry  of  anguish, 
That  the  very  stars  in  lieaven 
Shook  and  trembled  with  his  anguish. 

"  Farewell !  "  said  he,  "  Minnehaha ! 
Farewell !  O  my  Laughing  Water. 
Soon  your  footsteps  I  shall  follow 
To  the  Islands  of  the  Blessed, 
To  the  Land  of  the  Hergafter!  " 


MASTERS  OF  THE  SITUATION. 

A  great  mastery — like  that  of  Wellington  or  Bismarck — is  not 
80  common  in  the  world  as  to  excite  no  surprise.  True  mastery  is 
compact  of  suj^reine  qualities.  It  is  heroism ;  it  is  culture  ;  it  is 
enthusiasm  ;  it  is  faith ;  it  is  intelligence  ;  it  is  endurance ;  it  is 
unconquerable  will.  There  are  men  of  conviction  whose  very  faces 
will  light  up  an  era.  And  there  are  noble  women  in  whose  eyes 
you  may  almost  read  the  whole  plan  of  salvation. 

Insight,  foresight,  and  knowledge  are  what  the  world  demands 
of  a  great  leader — men  who  have  power  to  transmute  calamity  into 
greatness.  To  a  real  commander,  nothing  exists  which  cannot  be 
overcome.  "  Sir,"  said  IMirabeau's  secretary,  "  what  you  require  is 
impossible."  "  Impossible  !  "  cried  MIrabeau.  "  Never  name  to  me 
again  that  blockhead  of  a  word." 

If  any  man  was  ever  master  of  the  situation,  from  his  boundless 
knowledge,  abundant  language,  instantaneous  a])prehension,  and 
undaunted  speech,  it  was  Edmund  Burke.  The  vastness  of  his 
attainments  and  the  immensity  of  his  varied  powers  startled  his 
great  contemporaries  into  admiration.  Goldsmith,  Windham,  Pitt, 
and  others  have  left  on  record  eloquent  testimony  to  the  superiority 


MASTERS    OF    THE    SITUATION.  137 

of  Burke's  genius,  and  the  striking  fo.ct  that  he  was  the  hest  in- 
formed man  of  his  time.  Did  this  great  statesman  lounge  carelessly 
into  all  this  reputation  ?  Did  he  rely  solely  upon  his  genius  to 
hring  him  into  parliament,  to  continue  that  long  and  brilliant 
career  which  is  part  of  English  history  ?  Never  for  a  moment  did 
he  trust  to  his  genius.  See  him  at  the  top  of  his  high  fame,  elabo- 
rating every  speech,  every  sentence  he  wi'ote,  with  the  most  studi- 
ous care — studious  and  exhaustive  care. 

All  great  leaders  have  been  inspired  with  a  grer.t  belief.  In 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  failure  is  born  of  unfaith.  There  is  a  faith  so 
exjjansive  and  a  hope  so  elastic  that  a  man  having  tliem  wiU  keep 
on  bslieving  and  hoping  till  all  danger  is  past  and  victory  is  sure- 
Such  a  man  was  Cyrus  Field,  who  spent  so  many  years  of  his  life 
in  perfecting  a  communication  second  only  in  importance  to  the 
discovery  of  this  country.  It  was  a  long,  hard  struggle.  Thirteen 
years  of  anxious  watching  and  ceaseless  toil  were  his.  Think  what 
that  enthusiast  accomplished  by  his  untiring  energy.  He  made 
fifty  voyajes  across  the  Atlantic.  And  when  everything  looked 
darkest  for  his  enterprise,  his  courage  never  flagged  for  an  instant. 
Think  of  him  in  those  gloomy  periods,  pacing  the  decks  of  ships  on 
dark,  stormy  nights,  in  mid-ocean,  or  wandering  in  the  desolate 
forests  of  Newfoundland  in  pelting  rains,  comfortless  and  forlorn- 
Public  excitement  had  grown  wild  over  the  mysterious  workings  of 
those  flashing  wires.  And  when  the  first  cable  ceased  to  throb,  the 
reaction  was  intense.  Stockholders  and  the  jmblic  grew  exasperated 
and  suspicious ;  unbelievers  sneered  at  the  whole  project,  and  called 
the  telegraph  a  stupendous  hoax.  At  last  day  dawned  again,  and 
another  cable  was  ])aid  out.  Twelve  hui  dred  miles  of  it  was  laid 
down,  and  the  ship  was  just  lifting  her  head  to  a  stiff  breeze,  when, 
without  a  moment's  warning,  the  cable  suddenly  snapped  short  off 
and  plunged  into  the  sea.  Field  returned  to  England  defeated. 
But  his  energy  was  even  greater  than  before.  In  five  months,  by 
the  blessing  of  heaven,  another  cable  was  stretched  from  continent 
to  continent. 

Then  came  that  never-to-be-forgotten  search  in  four  sliips  for  the 
lost  cable.  In  the  bow  of  one  of  tliese  shi))s  stood  C'yrus  Kichi,  day 
and  night,  in  storm  and  fog,  in  s(p:all  and  cahn,  intently  watching 
the  quiver  of  the  grapnel  that  was  dragging  two  miles  down  on  the 
bottom   of  tlie  deep.     The  spirit  of  this  brave  man  was  rewarded* 


138  SELECTIONS. 

All  felt  as  if  life  and  death  hung  on  the  issue.  It  was  only  when 
the  cahle  was  brought  over  the  bow  and  on  the  deck  that  men  dared 
to  breathe.  Even  then  they  hardly  believed  their  eyes.  Some 
crept  toward  it  to  see  it,  feel  of  it,  to  be  sure  it  was  there.  Then  they 
carried  it  along  to  the  electrician's  room  to  see  if  the  long-sought 
treasure  was  alive  or  dead.  A  few  minutes  of  suspense,  and  a 
flash  told  of  the  lightning  current  again  set  free.  Some  turned 
away  and  wept,  others  broke  into  cheers,  and  the  cry  ran  from  ship 
to  ship,  while  rockets  lighted  up  the  darkness  of  the  sea. 

With  thankful  hearts  they  turned  their  faces  again  to  the  west; 
but  soon  the  wind  rose,  and  for  thirty-six  hours  they  were  exposed 
to  all  the  dangers  of  a  storm  on  the  Atlantic.  Yet  in  the  very 
height  and  fury  of  the  gale  a  flash  of  light,  which  having  crossed  to 
Ireland  returned  to  them  in  mid-ocean,  told  them  that  the  friends 
whom  they  had  left  behind  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  were  well, 
and  ioUowing  them  with  their  wishes  and  their  prayers.  This  was 
like  the  whisper  of  God  from  the  sea,  bidding  them  keep  heart  and 
hope. 

And  now.  after  all  those  thirteen  years  of  almost  superhuman 
struggle,  and  that  one  moment  of  almost  superhuman  victory,  we 
may  safely  include  Cyrus  W.  Field  among  the  masters  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

— James  T.  Field. 


THE  CREEDS  OF  THE  BELLS. 

How  sweet  the  chime  of  the  Sabbath  bells ! 
Each  one  its  creed  in  music  tells, 
In  tones  that  float  upon  the  air, 
As  soft  as  song,  as  pure  as  prayer. 
And  I  will  put  in  simple  rliyme 
The  language  of  the  golden  chime : 
My  happy  heart  with  rapture  swells 
Responsive  to  the  bells — sweet  bells. 

"  In  deeds  of  love  excel !   excel !  " 
Chimed  out  from  ivied  towers  a  bell ; 
"  This  is  the  church  not  built  on  sands, 
Emblem  of  one  not  built  with  hands  ; 


ROBERT   OF   LINCOLN.  139 

Its  forms  and  sacred  riglits  i"evere ; 
Come,  vvorshijj  here  !  come,  worship  here  ! 
In  rituals  and  faith  excel !  " 
Cliimed  out  the  Episcopalian  bell. 

"  Oh  !  heed  the  ancient  landmarks  well !  " 
In  solemn  tones  exclaimed  a  bell. 
"  No  progress  made  by  mortal  man 
Can  change  the  just,  eternal  plan. 
With  God  there  can  be  nothing  new; 
Ignore  the  false,  embrace  the  true, 
While,  all  is  well !  is  well !  is  well !  " 
Pealed  forth  the  Presbyterian  bell. 

"  Oh,  swell !  ye  purifying  waters,  swell !  " 
In  mellow  tones  rang  out  a  bell. 
"  Though  faith  alone  in  Clirist  can  save, 
Man  must  be  plunged  beneath  the  wave, 
To  show  the  world  unfaltering  faith 
Is  what  the  Sacred  Scriptures  saith. 
Oh,  swell !  ye  rising  waters,  swell !  " 
Pealed  out  the  clear-toned  Baptist  bell. 

"  To  aU  the  truth  we  tell !  we  tell !  " 
Shouted  in  ecstasies  a  bell. 
"Come,  all  ye  weary  wanderers,  see! 
Our  Lord  has  made  salvation  free ! 
Repent,  believe,  have  faith,  and  then 
Be  saved,  and  praise  the  Lord.     Amen  I 
Salvation's  free,  we  tell !  we  teU ! " 
Shouted  the  Methodistic  bell. 


ROBERT   OF   LINCOLN. 

Merrily  SAvinging  o'er  briar  and  weed, 
Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 

Over  the  mountain  side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name, — 
Whirr — whirr — whirr, 


140  SELECTIONS. 

Bobolink — bobolink — spink — spank — spink, 

Chee — chee — chee. 
Snug  and  safe  is  this  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 

Chee — chee — chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  dressed, 

Wearing  a  bright,  black  wedding  coat ; 
White  are  his  shoulders  and  white  his  crest, 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note, 
Wliirr — whirr — whirr. 
Bobolink — bobolink — spink — spank — spink, 

Chee — chee — chee. 
Look !  what  a  nice,  new  coat  is  mine  ; 
Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  tine. 
Chee — chee — chee. 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay. 

Flecked  with  ]iur])le — a  pretty  sight — 
There,  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might, — 

Whirr — whirr — whirr, 
Bobolink — bobolink — spink — spank — spink, 

Chee — chee — chee. 
Nice  good  wife  that  never  goes  out; 
Keeping  house  wliile  I  frolic  about. 

Chee — chee — chee. 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell. 

Six  ^vide  mouths  are  open  for  food; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well, 

Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood. 
Whirr — whirr — whirr, 
Bobolink — bobolink — spink — spank — spink, 

Chee — chee — chee. 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me. 
Chee — chee — chee. 


EGBERT    OF   LINCOLN.  141 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife, 

Pretty  and  modest,  with  plain  brown  wings, 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  life, 

Broods  in  the  nest  while  her  husband  sings, — 

Whirr — whirr — whirr, 
Bobolink — bobolink — spink — spank — spink, 

Chee — chee — chee. 
Brood,  kind  creature  !  you  need  not  fear 
Thieves  or  robbers  while  I  am  here. 

Chee — chee — chee. 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she ; 

One  weak  whirr  is  her  only  note. 
Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 
Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat, — 

Whirr — whirr — whirr. 
Bobolink — bobolink — spink — spank — spink, 

Chee — chee — chee. 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man ; 
Catch  me,  cowardly  knave,  if  you  can. 

Whirr — chee — chee — chee. 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  last  is  made 

Sober  with  work,  and  silent  with  care. 
Off  are  his  holiday  garments  laid ; 
Half  forgotten  the  merry  air, — 

Whirr — whirr — whirr. 
Bobolink — bobolink — spink — spank — spink, 

Chee — cliee — chee. 
No  one  knows  but  my  mate  and  I 
Where  our  nest  and  nestlings  lie. 

Chee — chee — chee. 

Summer  wanes — the  children  are  grown — 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  's  a  humdrum  crone  ; 

Off  he  flies,  and  we  sing  as  he  goes, — 
Whirr — whirr — whirr, 


142  SELECTIONS. 

Bobolink — bobolink — spink — spank — spink, 

Chee — chee — chee. 
When  you  can  pipe  tliat  merry  old  strain, 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  coi.ie  back  again. 

Whirr — chee — chee — chee. 


A  RAJPUT  NURSE. 
OROTUND.  ELEMENTS— GRANDEUR,  COURAGE,  TRAGIC. 

Edwin  Arnold,  the  author  of  the  well  known  "  Light  of  Asia," 
and  editor  of  the  London  Daily  Telegraph,  contributes  the  follow- 
ing touching  poem : 

*'  Whose  tomb  have  they  builded,  Vittoo,  under  the  tamarind  tree  ? 
With  its  door  of  the  rose-veined  marble,  and  white  dome  stately  to 

see  ? 
Was  he  holy  Brahmin,  or  Gogi.  or  a  king  of  the  Rajput  line, 
Whose  urn  rests  here  by  the  river,  in  the  shade  of  this  beautiful 

shrine  ?  " 

"May  it  please  you,"  quoth  Vittoo,  salaaming,  ''Protector  of  all 

the  Poor ! 
It  was  not  for  holy  Brahmin  they  carved  that  delicate  door, 
Nor  for  Gogi,  nor  Rajput  Rana,  did  they  buUd  this  gem  of  our 

land, 
But  to  tell  of  a  Rajput  woman,  as  long  as  the  stones  should  stand  ! 

"  Her  name  was  Moti,  the  pearl-name !      'T  was  far  in  the  ancient 

times, 
But  her  moonlight  face  and  her  teeth  of  peai'l  are  sung  of  still  in 

our  rhymes  ; 
And  because  she  was  young  and  comely,  and  of  good  repute,  and 

had  laid  • 

A  babe  in  the  arms  of  her   husband,  the  Palace  Nurse    she  was 

made. 


A   RAJPUT   NURSE.  143 

"  For  the   sweet  chief    Queen    of   our   Rana    in  Jaypore  city  had 

died. 
Leaving  a  motherless  infant,  the  heir  of  that  House  of  Pride, 
.  The  Heir  of  the  Peacock — hanner  of  the  Shiekl   of  Gold   of  the 

Throne, 
Which  traces  its  record  of  glory  to  years  when  it  stood  alone ; 

*'  To  ages  when,    from  the    Sunlight  the  fii'st  of  our  kings  came 

down. 
And  had   the  earth  for  his  footstool,  and  wore   the   stars  for  his 

crown, 
As  all  good  Rajputs  have  told  us, — so  Moti  was  proud  and  true. 
With  the  Prince  of  the  Land  on  her  bosom,  and  her  own  brown 

baby,  too ! 

"And  the  Rajput  women  will  have  it — I  know  not,  myself,  of  these 

things — 
As  the  two  babes  lay  in  her  bosom — her  lord's,  and  the  Jaypore 

King's — 
So  leal  was  the  blood  of  her  body,  so  fast  the  faith  of  her  heart. 
It  passed  to  her  new-born  infant,  who  took  of  her  trust  its  part ! 

*'  It  would  not  drink  at  the  breast-milk  till  the  Prince  had  drunken 

his  fill; 
It  would  not  sleep  to  the  cradle-song  till  the  Prince  was  lulled  and 

still ; 
And  it  lay  at  night  with  its  small  arms  clasped  'round  the  Rana's 

child. 
As  if  those  hands  of  the  rose-leaf  could  guard  him  from  treason 

wild. 

"  For  treason  was  wild   in   the   country,  and  villainous   men   had 

sought 
The  life  of  the  heir  of  the  Gadi  :  to  the  palace  in  seci'ct  brought, 
AVith  bribes  to  the  base,  and  with  knife-thrusts  for  the  faithful,  they 

found  their  way 
Through  the  fence  of  the  guards,  and  the  gate-ways,  to  the  hall 

where  the  women  lay. 


144  SELECTIONS. 

"  There  Moti,  the  Foster-Mother,  sat  singing  the  chiklren  to  rest, 
Her  baby  at  play  on  her  knees,  and  the  King's  son  held  to  her 

breast ; 
And  the  dark  slave-maidens  round  her  beat  low  on  the  cymbal-skin, 
Keeping  the  time  of  her  soft  song : — when,  Saheb !   there  hurried  in 

"A  breathless  watcher,  who  whispered,  with  horror  in  eyes  and  face, 
'  Oh,  Moti !    men   come   to   murder  my  Lord,  the  Prince,  in   this 

place ! 
They  have  bought  the  help  of  the  gate-guards,  or  slaughtered  them 

unawares. 
Hark !    that  is   the   noise   of  their  tulwars  that  clatter  upon  tlie 

stairs ! ' 

"For  one  breath  she  caught  up  her  baby  from  her  knee  to  her 

heart,  and  let 
The  King's  child  sink  from  her  bosom,  with  lips  still  clinging  and 

wet; 
Then  tore  from  the  Prince  his  head-cloth,  and  the  putta  of  pearls 

from  his  waist, 
And  bound  the  belt  on  her  infant,  and  the  cap  on  his  brows,  in 

haste ! 

"And  laid  her  own  dear  ofEspring,  her  flesh  and  blood,  on  the  floor, 
With  the  girdle  of  pearls  around  him,  and  the  cap  that  the  King's 

son  wore ; 
While  close   to   her  heart — which  was  breaking — she   folded  the 

Rajah's  joy ; 
And,  even  as  the  murderers  lifted  the  pm'dah,  she  fled  with  his  boy ! 

"But  there  (as  they  deemed),  in  his  jewels,  lay  the  chota — Rana 

the  heir ! 
*  The  cow  with  two  calves  has  escaped  us !  '  one  cried ;  '  it  is  right 

and  fair 
She  shall  save  her  own  butcha !  *  no  matter !  the  edge  of  a  Katar  f 

ends 
This  spark  of  Lord  Raghoba's  sunlight !  stab  thrice  and  four  times, 

oh  f  I'iends  !  ' 

*  Little  oue.  t  A  dagger. 


napoleon's  overthrow.  145 

"And  the  Rajput  women  will  have  it — I  know  not  if  this  can  bo 

so! — 
That  Moti's  son  in  the  putta  and  golden  cap  crooned  low 
When  the  sharp  blades  pierced  to  his  small  heart,  with  nevei*  a 

moan  or  wince, 
But  died  with  a  babe's  light  laughter,  because  he  died  for  hi^  Prlnco  ! 

"Thereby  did  that  Rajput  mother  preserve  the  line  of  our  kin^sl  " 
"  Oh  I  Vittoo,"  I  said,  "but  they  gave  her  much  gold  and  beautiful 

things ; 
And  garments  and  land  for  her  people,  and  a  home  in  the  Palace. 

May  be 
She  had  grown  to  love  the  princeling  even  more  than  the  child  on 

her  knee." 

"  May  it  please  the  presence !  "  quoth  Vittoo,  "  it  seemeth  not  so ; 

they  gave 
The  gold,  and  the  garments  and  jewels,  as  much  as  the  proudest 

should  have ; 
But  the  same  night,  deep  in  her  bosom  she  buried  a  knife,  and 

smiled. 
Saying  this  :  '  I  have  saved  my  Rana !      I  must  go  to  suckle  my 

child!'" 


NAPOLEON'S   OVERTHROW. 

[arranged  from  LES  MISERABI.es  by  SARAH  NEAL  HARRIP.] 

On  the  morning  of  Waterloo,  Napoleon  was  satisfied.  He  was 
right ;  the  plan  of  battle  which  he  had  conceived  was  indeed  admi- 
rable. 

Napoleon  was  accustomed  to  look  upon  war  fixedly ;  he  never 
made  figure  by  figure  the  tedious  addition  of  details  ;  the  figures 
mattered  little  to  him,  provided  they  gave  this  total :  Victory.  He 
treated  Destiny  as  an  ecjual  treats  an  equal.  He  appeared  to  say 
to  Fate  :  "  Thou  wouldst  not  dare." 
lU 


146  SELECTIONS. 

About  four  o'clock  the  English  line  staggered  backwards.  All 
at  once  only  the  artillery  and  the  sharpshooters  were  seen  on  the 
crest  of  the  plateau ;  the  rest  disappeared.  The  battle-front  of  the 
•English  was  slipping  away.  Wellington  gave  ground.  "  Be- 
ginning retreat !  "  cried  Napoleon. 

At  the  moment  when  Wellington  drew  back,  Napoleon  started 
up.  The  emperor  half  rose  in  his  stirrups.  The  flash  of  victory 
passed  into  his  eyes.  Wellington  hurled  back  on  the  forest  of 
Soignes  and  destroyed — that  was  the  final  overthrow  of  England  by 
France.     The  man  of  Marengo  was  wiping  out  Agincourt. 

The  emperor,  then,  contemplating  this  terrible  turn  of  fortune, 
swept  his  glass  for  the  last  time  over  eveiy  point  of  the  battle-field. 
His  guard,  standing  behind  with  grounded  arms,  looked  up  to  him 
with  a  sort  of  religion.  He  was  reflecting ;  he  was  examining  the 
slopes,  noting  the  ascents,  scrutinizing  the  tuft  of  trees,  the  square 
rye-field,  the  foot-path  ;  he  seemed  to  count  every  bush. 

He  bent  over  and  spoke  in  an  undertone  to  the  guide  Lacoste. 
The  guide  made  a  negative  sign  of  the  head,  probably  treacherous. 
The  emperor  rose  up  and  reflected.  Wellington  had  fallen  back. 
It  remained  only  to  complete  this  repulse  by  a  crushing  charge. 
Napoleon,  turning  abruptly,  sent  off  a  courier  at  full  speed  to  Paris 
to  announce  that  the  battle  was  won. 

They  were  three  thousand  five  hundred.  They  formed  a  line  of 
half  a  mile.-  They  were  gigantic  men  on  colossal  horses.  Aide-de- 
camp Bernard  brought  them  the  emperor's  order.  Ney  drew  his 
sword,  and  placed  himself  at  their  head.  The  enormous  squadrons 
began  to  move.  Then  was  seen  a  fearful  sight.  Behind  the  crest 
of  the  plateau,  under  cover  of  the  masked  battery,  the  English 
infantry  formed  in  thirteen  squares,  two  battalions  to  the  square, 
and  u2:>on  two  lines — seven  on  the  first  and  six  on  tlie  second — with 
musket  to  the  shoulder  and  eye  upon  their  sights,  waiting  calm, 
silent,  and  immovable. 

There  was  a  moment  of  fearful  silence  ;  then,  suddenly,  a  long 
line  of  raised  arms  brandishing  sabres  appeared  above  the  crest, 
with  casques,  trumpets,  and  standards,  and  three  thousand  faces 
with  grey  moustaches,  crying,  Vive  I'Empereur  ! 

All  at  once,  tragic  to  relate,  at  the  left  of  the  English  and  on  our 
right,  the  head  of  the  column  of  cuirassiers  reared  with  a  frightful 
clamor.     Arrived  at  the  culminating  point  of  the  crest,  unmanage- 


SPICE-BOX    SKETCHES.  147 

able,  full  of  fury,  and  bent  upon  the  extermination  of  the  squares 
and  cannons,  the  cuirassiers  saw  between  themselves  and  the 
English  a  ditch,  a  grave.     It  was  the  sunken  road  of  Ohain. 

It  was  a  frightful  moment.  There  was  the  ravine,  unlooked  for, 
yawning  at  the  very  feet  of  the  horses,  two  fathoms  deep  between 
its  double  slope.  The  second  rank  pushed  in  the  first,  the  third 
pushed  in  the  second.  The  horses  reared,  tlirow  themselves  over, 
fell  upon  their  backs,  and  struggled  with  their  feet  in  the  air 
pilling  up  and  overturning  their  riders  ;  no  power  to  retreat ;  the 
whole  column  was  nothing  but  a  projectile.  The  force  acquired  to 
crush  the  English  crushed  the  French.  The  inexorable  ravine 
could  not  yield  until  it  was  filled ;  riders  and  horses  rolled  in 
together  pell-mell,  grinding  each  other,  making  common  flesh  in 
this  dreadfuf  gulf  ;  and  when  this  grave  was  full  of  living  men,  the 
rest  marched  over  them  and  passed  on.  Almost  a  tliird  of  the 
'Dubois  brigade  sank  into  this  abyss. 

Was  it  possible  that  Napoleon  should  win  this  battle  ?  We  answer, 
No.  Why  ?  Because  of  Wellington  ?  Because  of  Blucher  ?  No. 
Because  of  God. 

For  Bonaparte  to  be  conqueror  at  Waterloo  was  not  in  the  law 
of  the  nineteenth  century.  Another  series  of  facts  was  preparing 
in  which  Napoleon  had  no  place.  The  ill-will  of  events  had  long 
been  announced. 

It  was  time  that  this  vast  man  should  fall.  Probably  the 
principles  and  elements  upon  which  regular  gravitations,  in  the 
moral  order  as  well  as  in  tlie  material,  depend,  began  to  mui'mur. 
Reeking  blood,  overcrowded  cemeteries,  weeping  mothers — these 
are  formidable  ])leaders.  When  the  earth  is  suffering  from  a 
surcharge,  there  are  mysterious  moanings  from  the  deeps,  which 
the  heavens  hear.  Napoleon  had  been  impeached  before  the  Infi- 
nite, and  his  fall  was  decreed. 

—  Victor  Hugo. 

SPICE-BOX    SKETCHES. 

Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered  weak  and  weary, 
Over  many  a  (piaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore, — 

While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,  suddenly  there  came  a  tapping 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping, — rapj)ing  at  my  chamber  docu-. 


148 


SELECTIOXS. 


"'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "tapping  at  my  chamber  door,— 

Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

Ah  !  distinctly  I  remember ;  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 

And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon  the  floor. 

Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow ;  vainly  I  had  sought  to  bori'ow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow, — soi'row  for  the  lost  Lenore. 

For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the  angels  named  "  Lenore," 

Nameless  here  forever  more. 

And  the  silken,  sad,  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple  curtain 

Thrilled  me,  filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt  before. 
So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  repeating, — 

"  Forward  the  Light  Brigade ! 
Charge  for  the  guns  !  "  he  said. 
Into  the  valley  of  death 
Rode  the  Six  Hundred. 
"  Foward  the  Light  Brigade  !  " 
Was  there  a  man  dismayed  ? 
Not  though  the  soldier  knew 
Some  one  had  blundered. 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 

For  sorra  a  bit  I  knew  what  was  comin'.  when  me  missus  walked 
into  the  kitchen  and  says,  kinder  scared  like, — "  Here 's  Fing  Wing. 
Kitty,  and  ye  have  too  much  sinse  to  mind  his  bein'  a  thrifle 
sthrange  ;  "  an'  wid  that  she  shoots  the  dure.  And  I,  misthrustin'  if 
I  was  tidied  up  sufficient  for  me  foine  bye,  wid  his  paper  collars, 

looks,  an' may  I  niver  brathe  another  brith  !  but  there  stood  a  rale 

haythen  Chineser,  a  gTinnin'  like  he  jist  come  off  a  tay-box !  and 
oh  !  the  haythen !  wid  divil  a  smitch  o'  whisker,  and  his  head  shaved 
cl'aner  nor  a  copper  b'iler,  an'  a  old  black  ni'-gown  over  his 
throusers,  and  wid  a  long  tail  hangin'  down  behint,  and  wid  his  fate 
stook  into  the  haythenist  shoes  you  iver  set  eyes  on,  an'  wid  his  two 
eyes  cocked  oup  like  two  poomp-handles  on 

One  more  unfortunate. 

Weary  of  breath. 
Rashly  importunate, 

Gone  to  her  death. 
Take  her  up  tenderly, 


SPICE-BOX   SKETCHES.  149 

And  now,  says  Darius,  "  Hooray  for  some  fun !  " 
"A'n't  goin'  to  see  the  celebration?" 

Says  brother  Nate,  "  No  !  botheration  ! 

I've  got  sich  a  toothache,  my  gracious,  I 

Feel  's  if  I  should  fly  !  " 

Said  Jotham, — "  Sho  ! 

Guess  you  'd  better  go." 

But  Darius  said  "  No  ;  should  n't  wonder 

If  you  'd  see  me,  though, 

Long  about  noon,  'f  I  get  red' 
O'  this  thump'n',  j ampin'  pain  in  my  head." 
But  all  the  while  to  himself  he  said, — 
"  I  '11  tell  ye  what : 
I  '11  fly  a  few  times  'raound  the  lot. 
To  see  haow  it  seems  ; 

Then,  as  soon  as  I  get  the  hang  o'  the  thing, 
I  '11  astonish  the  nation  and  all  creation 
By  flying  over  the  celebration  : 
Over  their  heads  I  '11  sail  lilie  an  eagle, 
I  '11  balance  myself  on  my  wings  like  a  sea  guU, 
I'll  dance  on  the  chimblys  and  fly  upon  the  steeple, 
I  '11  flop  up  to  the  window^s  and  scare  the  people, 
I  '11  light  on  the  liberty-pole  and  crow, 
And  I  'U  say  to  the  gaping  fools  below, — 

"  Want  to  see  the  wheels  go  wound  !  "      But  I  exclaimed,  holding 
the  watch,  "  You  may  look  at  it !  "     ''  Want  to  see  the   wheels  go 

wound  !  "     "I  will  not  open  the  watch "     "  Want  to  see  tlie 

wheels  go  wound  !  " 

0  Lord  !  oh,  dear  !  my  heart  will  break  ; 

1  shall  go  stick,  stark,  staring  mad ! 

Has  any  on  ye  seen  anything  about  the  streot 
Like  a  crying,  lost-looking  child  ? 
O  Lord  !  one  does  not  feel  till 
He  hears 

Tlio  loud  ;il;iriiiH  ln^lls, 

lirazen  bells  1 
Wli;it  a  tale  of  terror  now 
Their  turbulfiicv  tells: 


150  selectio:ns. 

In  the  startled  ear  of  ni^ht,  how  they  scream  out  their  affright; 
Too  much  terrified  to  speak,  tliey  can  only  shriek,  shriek 

Out  of  tune! 
In  a  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of  the  lire, — 
In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  deaf  and  frantic  fire, — 
Leaping  higher,  higher,  higher, 
With  a  desperate  desire,  and  a  resolute  endeavor 

Now,  now  to  sit  or  never 

By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 

Oh!  the  bells!  bells!  bells! 

What  a  tale  their  terror  tells 
Of  despair. 

Yet  the  ear  distinctly  tells 

By  the  twanging  and  the  clanging 

How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells, 

By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling 
In  the  anger  of  the  bells — of  the  bells!  bells!  bells!  bells!  bells!  bells!  bells! 


OLD    FRIENDS. 

[AKRANGED   by   SARAH   NEAL   HARRIS.] 

To  be,  or  not  to  be  ;  that  is  the  question : 

Whether  't  is  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  suffer 

The  slings  of  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune ; 

Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles, 

And  by  opposing  end  them  ? — To  die, — to  sleep, — 

No  more  ; — and,  by  a  sleep,  to  say  we  end 

The  heart-ache,  and  thousand  natural  shocks 

That  flesh  is  heir  to, — 't  is  a  consummation 

Devoutly  to  be  wishe'd.     To  die, — to  sleep  : — 

To  sleejj !   perchance  to  dream  : — ay,  there  's  the  rub ! 

For,  by  scholly,  I  did  n't  tink  I  could  go  in  a  parrel  pefore.  But 
dare  I  vas,  tight  shtuck.  Now  I  never  vas  ferre  pig  up  and  down, 
but  vas  l)ooty  pig  all  de  vay  round  de  middle  Ven  I  found  I 
couldn't  move  effery  vay,  I  called,  "  Katrina !  Katrina!"  Ven 
she  come  and  find  me  wit  my  fest  pushed  vay  up  under  my  arm- 
holes,  she  lay  down  an'  laughed  an'  laughed  like  she  would  shplit 
herself,  till  I  vas  so  mad  I  said,  "  Vot  you  lay  there  like  a  ould 
fool,  hey?     And  she  tiaid, — "Sockery, 


OLD    FRIENDS.  151 

The  raven  himself  is  hoarse, 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance 

Of  peek-a-bo,  peek-a-bo, 

Come  from  behind  that  chair. 
Peek-a-bo,  peek-a-bo. 

I  see  you  hiding  there. 

Oh  my  hearers  !  man  claims  to  be  the  superior  of  woman.  Is  it 
so  ?  And  if  so,  in  what,  and  how  much  ?  AVas  he  the  first  crea- 
tion ?  He  was,  my  hearers  ;  but  what  does  that  prove  ?  It  proves 
simjjly  that  the  experience  gained  in  making  man  was  applied  to  the 
making  of  a  more  finer  being,  of  wliom  I  am  the  example.  Man 
claims  tliat  Eve  was  the  cause  of  his  expulsion  from  paradise.  It 
is  true,  it  is  too  true,  my  sisters ;  but  that  only  shows  her  goodness, 
for  if  Adam  had  plucked  the  apple,  he  would  have  eaten  it  all  him- 
self, had  it  been  a  good  one. 

Yath,  now  I  rekimember.  I — I — I —  wath  walking  on  the  eth- 
splanade  when  I — I — I  s;hee  a — a — feller  an' — an' — a  Newfound- 
land dog.  An' — an' — he  inspired  me  to  make  a — a — widdle — the 
dog.  not  the  feller ;  he — he — he — wath  a  lunatic.  I — I — I — do  n't 
mind  telling  you  this  widdle  ;  it  ith  putty  good.  Wa — why  doth 
a  dog  waggle  its  tail?  You — you — give  it  up?  I — I — guess  most 
of  the  f eUers  will  give  that  up.  We — we — well,  you  see  a  dog  wag- 
gles its  tail  because  the  dog  is  stronger  than  the  tail.  If — if  it 
was  n't  so,  tho',  ith  tail  would  waggle  the  dog.  Yath,  that 's  wliat 
I  caU— 

Too  proud  to  beg,  too  honest  to  steal, 
I  know  what  it  is  to  be  wanting  a  meal ; 
My  tatters  and  rags  I  try  to  conceal, 
I  belong  to  the  shabby  genteel 

For,  bedad,  when  I  had  my  good-looking  pictur  took,  ould 
Pickey-bones  tuck  me  by  the  shoulder  and  twisted  me  down  into  a 
chair,  and  then  wid  me  face  between  his  ugly  smelling,  datty 
hands, — och  !  the  colour  of  a  nager  ! — he  gave  me  head  a  twist,  and 
clapped  a  grappling-iron  until  the  back  of  me,  and  fell  a  screw- 
ing and  a  screwing,  until — may  the  divil  secure  me ! — I  was  in  a 
violent  thremble.     But  no  sooner  had  he  gone  into  the  little  room 


152  SELECTIONS. 

bsyant  there,  then  I  outs  of  me  seat  and  'round  to  look  into  the  lit- 
tle box,  to  see  if  he  had  any  murderous  weapons  to  fire  off  on  me  in 
an  unguarded  moment ;  but  divil  a  ha'p'wort'  could  see  for  an  oiild 
black  raj  that  hung  over  the  front  of  it.  And,  gist  as  I  reached 
'roimd  to  grab  off  the  old  rag, 

A  light  on  Marmion's  vision  fell, 
And  fired  his  glazing  eye  ; 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 
And  shouted, — 

I  'm  a  dude  !  a  dandy  dude  !  You  can  see  by  my  coat  I  'm  in 
fashion.  See  my  hair,  it 's  all  there ;  for  hair-oil  I  have  a  great 
passion.  Neck-tie  very  crushed  strawberry,  and  I  feed  on  canary- 
bird  food ;  diamonds  wear,  bang  my  hair, — I  'm  a  dashing,  a  dandy 
young  dude. 


THE  HERO  OF  THE  TOWER. 

Long  time  ago,  when  Austria  was  young, 
There  came  a  herald  to  Vienna's  gates, 
Bidding  the  city  fling  them  open  wide 
Upon  a  certain  day  ;  for  then  the  king 
Would  enter,  with  his  shining  retinue. 

Forthwith  the  busy  streets  were  pleasure-paths, 
And  that  which  seemed  but  now  a  field  of  toil, 
Flaslied  into  gardens  blooming  full  of  flowers. 
Beauty  blushed  deeper,  now  the  rising  sun 
Of  royalty  upon  it  was  to  shine ; 

And  thus  he  spoke  :   "  For  fifty  years  or  more 

I  have  been  sexton  of  St.  Joseph's  church. 

And  no  procession  in  the  fifty  yaars 

Has  marched  the  streets  with  aujht  like  kingly  tread, 

But  on  the  summit  of  St.  Joseph's  spire 

I  stood  erect  and  waved  a  welcome  flag. 


TFIK    HERO    OF    THE    TOWEPw  153 

And  now  I  am  old,  the  flag-  must  not  be  missed 

From  the  cathedral's  summit.     I  've  no  son, 

Or  he  should  bear  the  blame,  or  bear  my  curse. 

I  have  a  daughter — she  shall  wave  the  flag ! 

And  this  is  how  my  girl  shall  wave  the  flag  : 

Ten  suitors  has  she,  and  the  valiant  one 

Who,  strong  of  heart  and  will,  can  climb  that  perch, 

And  do  what  I  so  many  times  have  done, 

Shall  take  her  hand  from  mine  at  his  descent. 

Speak  up,  Vienna's  lads  I  and  recollect 

How  much  of  loveliness  faint  heart  e'er  won." 

Then  there  was  clamor  in  the  callow  breasts 
Of  the  Vienna  youth ;  for  she  was  far 
The  sweetest  blossom  of  that  city's  vines. 
But  none  spoke  up,  till  Gabriel  Petershein, 
Whose  ear  the  proclamation  strange  had  readied, 
Came  rushing  through  the  crowd,  and  boldly  said, — 
"  I  am  your  daughter's  suitor !  and  the  one 
She  truly  loves ;  but  scarce  can  gain  a  smile 
Until  I  win  her  father's  heart  as  well. 


And  thus  the  old  man  answered  :  "  Climb  ! 
If  senseful  breeze  should  push  you  off  your  way, 
And  break  that  raw  and  somewhat  worthless  neck, 
I  cannot  greatly  mourn  ; — but  dim))  your  way  ! 
And  you  shall  have  tlie  girl  if  you  succeed." 

High  on  the  giddy  pinnacle,  next  day, 

Waited  the  youth ;  but  not  till  evening's  sun 

Marched  from  the  western  gate,  that  tardy  king 

Rode  jmst  the  church.     And  though  young  Gabriel's  nerves 

Were  weakened  by  fatigue  and  want  of  food, 

He  pleased  the  peoples  and  the  monarch's  eye. 

And  flaslied  a  deeper  thrill  of  love  tlirough  one 

Who  turned  her  sweet  face  often  up  to  h'ni. 

And  whose  true  heart  stood  with  liiiii  on  tlie  tower. 


154  SELECTIONS. 

Now  when  the  kingly  pageant  all  had  passed, 

He  folded  up  the  flag,  and,  with  prond  smiles 

And  prouder  heart,  prepared  him  to  descend : 

But  the  small  trap-door  through  which  he  had  crept 

Had  hy  some  rival's  hand  been  barred  ! 

He  shouted,  but  no  answer  came  to  him, — 

Not  even  an  echo  on  that  lofty  perch. 

He  waved  his  hand  in  mute  entreaty,  but 

The  darkness  crept  between  him  and  his  friends. 

A  million  sweet-eyed  stars 
Gave  smiles  to  his  beseechings,  but  no  help. 
And  so  the  long  procession  of  the  night 
Marched  slowly  by,  and  each  chill  hour  was  hailed 
By  the  great  clock  beneath,  and  still  he  clung. 

He  prayed  again. 
To  his  lost  mother  in  the  skies  above ; — 
And  then  he  prayed  to  God.     About  that  time 
The  maiden  di'eamed  she  saw  her  lover,  faint, 
Clinging  for  life  ;  and,  with  a  scream,  uprose, 
And  rushed  to  the  old  sexton's  yielding  door, — 
Granting  to  him  no  peace  until  he  ran 
To  find  the  truth,  and  give  the  boy  release. 
An  horn'  ere  svmrise  he  came  feebly  down, 
Grasping  the  flag,  and  claiming  his  fair  prize. 

But  the  young  maiden  clasped  his  weary  head 

In  her  white  arms,  and  soothed  him  like  a  chdd  ; 

And  said, — "  You  lived  a  life  of  woe  for  me 

Upon  the  spire,  and  now  look  old  enough 

Even  to  please  my  father  ;  but  soon  I 

Will  nurse  you  back  into  your  youth  again." 

And  soon  the  tower  bells  rung  his  wedding  song ; — 

The  old  young  man  was  hap])y,  and  they  both. 

Cheered  by  the  well  earned  bounty  of  the  king, 

Lived  many  years  within  Vienna's  gates. 


LITTLE   TOMMY   TUCKER.  155 

OH  !    HAD    I    KNOV^N  ! 

If  I  had  thought  so  soon  she  woiikl  have  died, 

He  said,  I  had  been  tenderer  in  ray  speech ; 
I  had  a  moment  Kngered  at  her  side, 

And  hekl  her,  ere  she  passed  beyond  my  reach. 
If  I  liad  thought  so  soon  she  would  have  died. 

That  day  she  looked  up  with  her  startled  eyes, 

Like  some  hurt  creature  where  the  woods  are  deep, 

With  kisses  I  had  stilled  those  breaking  sighs, — 
With  kisses  closed  those  eyelids  into  sleep, — 

That  day  she  looked  up  with  her  startled  eyes. 

Oh !  had  I  known  she  would  have  died  so  soon. 

Love  had  not  wasted  on  a  barren  land, — 
Love  like  those  rivers  under  torrid  noon, 

Lost  on  the  desert,  poured  out  on  the  sand, — 
Oh !  had  I  known  she  would  have  died  so  soon ! 


LITTLE    TOMMY    TUCKER. 

[arranged  from  E.  S.  PHELPS,  BY  SARAH  N.  HARRIS.] 

There  were  three  persons  in  the  car — a  merchant,  an  old  lady, 
and  a  man  in  the  corner,  with  his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes.  Tommy 
opened  the  door,  peeped  in,  hesitated,  gave  his  little  fiddle  a  shove 
on  his  shoulder,  and  walked  in. 

"  Hi !  little  Tommy  Tucker  plays  for  his  supper,"  shouted  the 
young  exquisite,  lounging  on  the  platform,  in  tan-colored  coat  and  lav- 
ender kids.  "  Oh,  kids,  you  're  tliere,  are  you  ?  Well.  I  'd  rather  play 
for  it  than  loaf  for  it,"  said  Tommy  stoutly.  The  old  lady  smiled 
benignly  ?  the  man  in  the  corner  neither  looked  nor  smiled.  Nobody 
would  have  thought,  to  look  at  that  man,  that  he  was  at  that  very 
moment  deserting  wife  and  children, — a  man  weak,  unfortunate, 
and  selfish  as  unfortunate  people  are  apt  to  be.  That  was  the 
amount  of  it.  He  hated  the  dreary,  needy  home.  Once  fairly 
rid  of  him,  his  wastings  and  failings,  Annie  would  send  tlu'  childron 


156  SELECTIONS. 

to  school,  and  find  ways  to  live.  She  had  energy  and  invention, 
plenty  of  it,  in  her  young,  fresh  days,  before  he  came  across  her  path 
to  drag  her  down.  Perhaps  he  should  make  a  fortune,  and  come 
hack  to  her.  with  a  silk  dress  and  servants,  and  make  it  all  u]i. 
Bat  if  his  ill  luck  went  westward  with  him,  she  would  forget  him 
and  be  better  off.  So  here  he  was,  ticketed  for  Colorado,  sitting 
here  thinking  about  it.  "  H'm — 'sleep !  pronounced  Tommy,  with 
his  keen  glance  in  the  corner.  "  Guess  I  '11  wake  him  up.'' 
Tommy  laid  his  cheek  lovingly  down  on  his  little  fiddle — you  do  n't 
know  how  Tommy  loved  that  little  fiddle — and  struck  up  a  gay, 
rollicking  tune, 

"  I  care  for  nobody,  and  nobody  cares  for  me." 

The  man  in  the  corner  sat  quite  still :  when  it  was  over,  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "  When  folks  are  asleep  they  do  n't  hist  their 
shoulders,  not  as  a  general  thing,"  observed  Tommy.  "  I  '11  try 
another.  Nobody  knows  what  possessed  the  little  fellow — the  little 
fellow  least  of  all — but  he  tried  this : 

"We  've  lived  and  loved  together 
Through  many  a  changing  year." 

It  was  a  new  tune,  and  needed  jDracti-ce.  "  We  've  lived  and  loved 
together,"  played  Tommy  in  a  little  plaintive  wail.      "  We  've  lived 

and  loved "     "Confound  the  boy!"     Harmon  pushed  up  his 

hat  with  a  jerk  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  The  night  was 
coming  on.  Against  lonely  signal-houses  the  water  was  splash- 
ing drearily,  and  playing  monotonous  bases  to  Tommy's  wail. 
— "  Through  many  changing  years — Through  many  changing 
years."  It  was  a  nuisance,  this  playing  on  the  train.  What  did 
the  child  mean  by  playing  that  ?  Harmon  pushed  up  the  window, 
fiercely  v(  nt'  ig  the  passion  of  the  music  on  the  first  thing  that 
came  in  his  way. 

What  was  the  boy  about  now  ?  Not  "  Home,  sweet  home  "  ? 
But  that  was  what  Tommy  was  about.  "  There  's  no  place  like 
home."  played  Tommy,  "  there  's  no  place  like  home."  There,  in 
the  lighted  home,  out  on  the  flats,  she  was  waiting  now ;  she  would 
put  the  baby  down,  and  stand  at  the  window  witli  her  hands  ra'sed 
to  her  face  to  shut  out  the  light — watching — watching !     Oh  !  the 


LITTLE  TOIMMY  TUCKER.  157 

long  nights  that  she  must  stand  watching,  and  the  years.     "  Home, 
home,  sweet,  sweet  home,"  played  Tommy. 

How  about  that  cove  in  the  corner,  with  his  head  lopped  down 
on  his  arms  ?  But  that  cove  was  awake  now  in  every  nerve. 
Tommy  knew  that,  it  being  a  part  of  his  trade  to  learn  how  to  use 
his  eyes.  Oh,  the  sweet  loyal  passion  of  the  music  !  It  would  take 
worse  playing  than  Tommy's  to  drown  the  music  out  of  "  Annie 
Laurie,"  as  its  strains  rose  above  the  noise  of  the  train : 

"  'T  was  tliere  that  Annie  Laurie 
Gave  me  her  promise  true." 

She  used  to  sing  that,  the  man  in  the  corner  was  thinkmg,  this 
Annie  of  his  own — why,  she  had  been  his  own  once,  and  he  had 
bved  her — how  he  had  loved  her  !  "  Gave  me  her  promise  true," 
murmured  the  little  fiddle — "That's  a  fact,"  said  poor  Annie's 
husband,  and  kept  it,  too — ah,  how  she  had  kept  it !  "  Her  face  is 
as  the  fairest  that  e'er  the  sun  shone  on,"  suggested  the  little  fiddle. 
That  it  should  be  darkened  forever,  and  that  he  should  do  it, — he 
sitting  here  bound  for  Colorado  !  "  And  ne'er  forget  will  I,"  mur- 
mured the  little  fiddle.  He  wondered  if  it  were  ever  too  late  for  a 
fellow  to  make  a  man  of  himself.  "And  she  's  all  the  world  to  me. 
And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie  I'd  lay  me  down  and  die,"  sang  the 
little  fiddle  triumphantly.  Harmon  shook  himself  and  stood  uj). 
The  train  was  slackening.  It  was  about  time  for  supper,  so  Tommy 
passed  round  his  faded  cap.  The  merchant  threw  him  a  penny. 
The  old  lady  was  fast  asleep  with  her  mouth  wide  open.  "  Come 
here,"  said  Harmon:  Tommy  shrank  back  afraid.  "I  tell  you,  boy, 
you  do  n't  know  what  you  have  done  to-night."  Tonnny  could  n't 
help  laughing,  though  there  was  a  twinge  of  pain  at  his  stout  little 
heart  as  lie  fingered  the  solitary  penny  in  the  faded  cap.  "  Done, 
sir?  well,  I  guess  I  waked  you  up."  "That's  it,  you've  waked  me 
up  ;  here,  hold  your  cap."  Harmon  emptied  his  pocket  into  the 
faded  cap,  and  shook  it  clear  of  paper  and  C()p])er  alil<e,  and  was 
oft'  the  train  before  Tommy  could  say  "Jack  Robinson."  "My 
eyes  !  "  gasped  Tommy.  "  Methusalah  I  look-er-here  !  one,  two, 
three, — that  chap  must  have  been  cra/y — that 's  it,  crazy." 

"He'll  never  know  what  he's  done  to-night,  nor,  please  God, 
shall  she." — She  was  standing  at  the  window,  as  he  had  known  she 
would,  her  hand  raised  to  her  face,  her  figure  cut  out  against  the 


158  SELECTIONS. 

warm  light  of  the  room.     He  stood  still  a  moment,  hidden  in  the 
shadow  of  the  street,  thinking  his  own  thoughts. 

The  publican  in  the  old  story  liarily  entered  the  beautiful  temple 
with  more  reverent  stejxs  than  he  his  home  that  night. 


SPEECH    FOR    DECORATION    DAY. 

[adapted.] 

As  we  cover  the  graves  of  the  heroic  dead  with  flowers,  the  past 
rises  before  us  like  a  dream.  Again  we  are  in  the  great  struggle. 
"We  hear  the  sounds  of  preparation — the  music  of  the  boisterous 
drums — the  silver  voices  of  the  heroic  bugles.  We  hear  the 
appeals  of  orators ;  we  see  the  pale  cheeks  of  women,  and  the 
flushed  faces  of  men  ;  we  see  all  the  dead  whose  dust  we  have  cov- 
ered with  flowers.  We  lose  sight  of  them  no  more.  We  are  with 
them  when  they  enlist  in  the  great  army  of  freedom.  We  see  them 
part  from  those  they  love.  Some  are  walking  for  the  last  time  in 
the  quiet  woody  places  with  the  maidens  they  adore.  We  hear  the 
whispers,  and  the  sweet  vows  of  eternal  love,  as  they  lingeringly 
part  forever.  Others  are  bending  over  cradles,  kissing  babies  tliat 
are  asleep.  Some  are  receiving  the  blessings  of  old  men.  Some 
are  parting  who  hold  them  and  press  them  to  their  hearts  again  and 
ao-ain,  and  say  nothing ;  and  some  are  talking  with  wives,  and  tidying, 
with  brave  words  spoken  in  the  old  tones,  to  drive  f ram  their  hearts 
the  awful  fear.  We  see  them  part.  We  see  the  wife  standing  in  the 
door  with  the  babe  in  her  arm.s— standing  in  the  sunllglit,  sobbing. 
At  the  turn  of  the  road  a  hand  waves :  she  answers  by  holding 
lii'di  in  her  loving  arms  the  child.     He  is  gone,  and  forever. 

We  see  them  all  as  they  march  proudly  away,  under  the  flaunting 
flaf>-s,  keeping  time  to  the  wild  nuisic  of  war — maiching  down  the 
streets  of  the  great  cities,  tlirough  the  towns,  and  across  tlie  prai- 
ries, to  do  and  to  die  for  the  eternal  right.  We  go  with  them,  one 
and  aU.  We  are  by  their  side  on  all  the  gory  ftelds,  in  all  the  hos- 
pitals of  pain,  on  all  the  weary  marches.  We  stand  guard  with 
them  in  the  wild  storm  and  under  the  quiet  stars.  We  are  with 
them  in  ravines  with  blood,  in  the  furrows  of  old  fields.  We  are 
with  them  between  contending  hosts,  unable  to  move,   wild  with 


STREET   CRIES. 


159 


thirst,  the  life  ebbing  slowly  away  among  the  withered  leaves. 
We  see  them  pierced  with  balls  and  torn  by  shells  in  the  trenches 
by  the  forts,  and  in  the  whirlwind  of  the  charge,  where  men  become 
iron  with  nerves  of  steel.  We  are  at  home  when  the  news  reaches 
us  that  they  are  dead.  We  see  the  maiden  in  the  shadow  of  her 
first  sorrow.  We  see  the  silvered  head  of  the  old  man  bowed  with 
the  last  grief.  Those  heroes  are  dead.  They  sleep  under  the 
solemn  pines,  the  sad  hemlocks,  the  tearful  willows,  and  the  embrac- 
ing vines.  They  sleep  beneath  the  shadows  of  the  clouds,  careless 
alike  of  the  sunshine  and  the  storm,  each  in  the  windowless  place  of 
rest. 

Earth  may  run  red  with  other  wars — they  are  at  peace.  In  the 
midst  of  battle,  in  the  roar  of  the  conflict,  they  found  the  serenity 
of  death.  I  have  one  sentiment  for  the  soldiers  living  and  dead — 
cheers  for  the  living,  tears  for  the  dead. 


STREET    CRIES. 
LAMENT   OF  A  DISTKACTED   CITIZEN. 

The  Englishman  's  waked  by  the  lark, 

A-singing  far  up  in  the  sky ; 

But  a  damsel  with  wheel-baritone, 

Pitched  fearfully  high, 

Like  a  lark  in  the  sky, 

Wakes  me  with  a  screech 

Of  "  Horse  red-dee-ee-eech  !  " 

The  milkman,  he  crows  in  the  morn. 

And  then  the  street  cackle  begins : 

Junk-man  with  cow-bells,  and  iish-nian  with  horn, 

And  venders  of  brushes  and  pins, 

And  menders  of  tubs  and  of  tins. 

"  Wash-tubs  to  mend  !  "     "  Tin-ware  to  mend  !  " 

Oh !  who  will  deliverance  send  ? 

Hark !     That  girl  is  beginning  lier  screecli, — 

"  Horse "  " tubs"  "  Ripe  peach " 


160  SELECTIONS. 

Then  there  's  "  0-ranges,"   "  Glass  toputin," 
And  bagpipes,  and  peddlers,  and  shams ; 
The  hand-organizer  is  mixing  his  din 

With  "  Strawber "  "Nice  sof  clams !  " 

"Wash-tubs  to  mend,"  "  Tin-ware  to  mend  !  " 

Oh,  Heaven  deliverance  send  ! 

I  'd  swear,  if  it  was  n't  a  sin, 

By  " any  woo-ood  ?  "     "  Glass  toputin !  " 

"  Ice-cream !  "     I  'm  sure  that  you  do  ! 

And  madly  the  whole  town  is  screaming, — 

"  Pie-apples  !  "  "  Shedders  !  "  "  Oysters  !  "  and  "  Blue- 

Berries  !  "  with  "  Hot  corn  all  steaming  !  " 

"  Umbrell's  to  mend  !  " — My  head  to  mend  ! 

How  swiftly  I  'd  like  to  send 

To — somewhere — this  rackety  crew, 

That  keep  such  a  cry  and  a  hue 

Of  "  Hot "  "  Wash-tubs  !  "  and  "  Pop-     " 

Corn-balls  !  " — Oh  !  corn-hawler,  stop  ! 

From  morning  till  night  the  street 's  full  of  hawkers 
Of  "  North  River  shad !  "  and  "  Ba-nan-i-yoes  !  " 
Of  men  and  women  and  little  girl  squawkers — 
"  Ole  hats  and  boots  !     Ole  clo'es  !  " 
"  Times,  Tribune,  and  Worruld  !  " 
"  'Ere  's  yer  mornin'  'Erald  !  " 
What  a  confoimded  din 

Of  "  Horse  red" " toputin  " 

"  Ripe "  "  Oysters,"  and  "  Potatoes  " "  to  mend  " 

Till  the  watchman's  late  whistle  comes  in  at  the  end. 

— Edward  Eggleston. 


TOUSSAINT    L'OUVERTURE. 

If  I  were  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Napoleon,  I  should  take  it  from 
the  lips  of  Frenchmen,  who  find  no  language  rich  enough  to  paint 
tlie  great  captain  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Were  I  to  tell  you  the 
story  of  Wasliington,  I  should  take  it  from  your  hearts — you  who 


TOUSSAINT    L'OUVERTUKE.  IGl 

think  no  marble  white  enough  on  wliich  to  carve  the  name  of  the 
Father  o£  his  Country.  But  I  am  to  tell  you  the  story  of  a  negro, 
Toussaint  L'Ouverture,  who  left  hardly  one  written  line.  I  am  to 
glean  it  from  the  reluctant  testimony  of  his  enemies,  men  who 
despised  him  because  he  was  a  negro  and  a  slave,  hated  him 
because  he  had  beaten  them  in  battle.  CromweU  manufactured  his 
own  army.  Napoleon  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven  was  placed  at 
the  head  of  the  best  troops  Europe  ever  saw.  Ci'omwell  never  saw 
an  army  till  he  was  forty.  This  man  never  saw  a  soldier 
till  he  was  fifty.  Cromwell  manufactured  his  army — out  of  what  ? 
Englishmen — the  best  blood  in  Europe ;  and  with  it  he  con- 
quered— what  ?  Englishmen — their  equals.  This  man  manufactured 
his  army  out  of — what  ?  Out  of  what  you  call  the  despicable  race  of 
negroes,  debased  by  two  hundred  years  of  slavery,  unable  to  speak 
a  dialect  intelligible  to  each  other.  Yet  out  of  this  mixed  and,  as 
you  say,  despicable  mass,  he  forged  a  thunderbolt  and  hurled  it  at — 
what  ?  At  the  proudest  blood  in  Europe,  the  Spaniard,  and  sent 
him  home  conquered;  at  the  most  warlike  blood  in  Europe,  the 
French,  and  put  them  under  his  feet ;  at  the  pluckiest  blood  in 
Europe,  the  English,  and  they  skulked  home  to  Jamaica.  Now  if 
Cromwell  was  a  general,  at  least  this  man  was  a  soldier. 

Now,  blue-eyed  Saxon,  proud  of  your  race,  go  back  with  me  to 
the  commencement  of  the  century,  and  select  what  statesman  you 
please.  Let  him  be  either  American  or  European  ;  let  him  have  a 
brain  the  result  of  six  generations  of  cultm-e ;  let  him  have  the  ripest 
training  of  univei-slty  routine  ;  let  him  add  to  it  the  better  education 
of  practical  life  :  crown  his  temples  with  the  silver  locks  of  seventy 
years, — and  show  me  the  man  of  Saxon  lineage  for  whom  his  most 
sanguine  admirer  wiU  wreathe  a  laurel  rich  as  embittered  foes  have 
placed  on  the  brow  of  this  negro — rare  military  skill,  pi-ofound 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  content  to  blot  out  all  party  distinctions, 
and  trust  a  state  to  the  blood  of  its  sons — anticipating  Sir  Robert 
Peel  fifty  years,  and  taking  his  station  by  the  sitle  of  Hoger 
Williams  before  any  Englishman  or  American  had  won  the  right ; — 
and  yet  this  is  the  record  which  tlie  history  of  rival  states  makes  up 
for  this  inspired  black  of  St.  Domingo. 

Some  doubt  the  courage  of  the  negro.     Go  to  Hayti,  and  stand 
on  those  fifty  thousand  graves  of  the  best  soldiers  France  evei-  had, 
and  ask  them  what  they  thirrk  of  the  negro's  sword. 
11 


162  SELECTIONS. 

I  would  call  him  Napoleon  ;  but  Napoleon  made  his  way  to  empire 
over  broken  oaths  and  through  a  sea  of  blood.  This  man  never 
broke  his  word.  I  would  call  him  Cromwell ;  but  Cromwell  was 
only  a  soldier,  and  the  state  he  founded  went  down  with  him  into 
his  grave.  I  would  call  him  Washington  ;  but  the  great  Virginian 
held  slaves.  This  man  risked  his  empa-e  rather  than  permit  the 
slave-trade  in  the  humblest  village  of  his  dominions. 

You  think  me  a  fanatic,  for  you  read  history,  not  with  your  eyes, 
but  with  yoiu"  prejudices.  But  fifty  years  hence,  when  Truth  gets 
a  hearing,  the  Muse  of  history  will  put  Phocion  for  the  Greek,  Bru- 
tus for  the  Roman,  Hampden  for  England,  Fayette  for  France, 
choose  Washington  as  the  bright  consummate  flower  of  our  earlier 
civilization,  then,  dipping  her  pen  in  the  sunlight,  will  write  in  the 
■clear  blue,  above  them  all,  the  name  of  the  soldier,  the  statesman, 
the  martyr,  Toussaint  L'Ouverture. 

—  Wendell  Phillips. 


BACK    FROM    THE   WAR. 

I  never  realized  what  the  country  was  and  is  as  on  the  day  when 
I  first  saw  some  of  these  gentlemen  of  the  army  and  navy.  It  was 
when,  at  the  close  of  the  war,  our  armies  came  back,  and  marched 
in  review  before  the  president's  stand  at  Washington.  I  do  not 
care  whether  a  man  was  a  Republican  or  a  Democrat,  a  Northern 
man  or  a  Southern  man,  if  he  had  any  emotion  of  nature  he  could  not 
look  upon  it  without  weeping.  God  knew  that  the  day  was  stupen- 
dous, and  he  cleared  the  heaven  of  cloud  and  mist  and  chiU,  and 
sprimg  the  blue  sky  as  a  triumphal  arch  for  the  returning  warriors 
to  pass  under.  From  Arlington  Heights  the  spring  foliage  shook 
out  its  welcome  as  the  hosts  came  over  the  hiUs,  and  the  s})arkling 
waters  of  the  Potomac  tossed  their  gold  to  the  feet  of  the  battalions 
as  they  came  to  the  Long  bridge  and  in  almost  interminable  line 
passed  over.  The  cajiitol  never  seemed  so  majestic  as  that  morn- 
ing, snowy  white,  looking  down  upon  the  tides  of  men  that  came 
surging  down,  billow  after  billow.  Passing  in  silence,  yet  I  heard 
in  every  step  the  thmider  of  conflicts  through  which  they  had  waded, 
-and  seemed  to  see  dripping  from  their  smoke-blackened  flags  the 
Wood  of  our  country's  martyrs.     For  the  best  part  of  two  days  we 


BACK    FROM    THE    WAR.  163 

stood  and  watched  the  filing  on  of  what  seemed  endless  battalions, 
brigade  after  bi'igade,  division  after  division,  host  after  host,  rank 
beyond  rank ;  ever  moving,  ever  passing ;  marching,  marching ; 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp — thousands  after  tliousands,  battery  front, 
arms  shouldered,  columns  solid,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  wheel  to 
wheel,  charger  to  charger,  nostril  to  nostril. 

Commanders  on  horses  whose  manes  were  intwined  with  roses 
and  necks  enchained  with  garlands,  fractious  at  the  shouts  that 
ran  along  the  line,  increasing  from  the  clapping  of  children  clothed 
in  white  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  ca})itol,  to  the  tumultuous 
vociferation  of  hundreds  of  thousands  of  enraptured  multitudes, 
crying  "  Huzza  !  Huzza  !  "  Gleaming  muskets,  thundering  parks  of 
artillery,  rumbling  pontoon-wagons,  ambulances  from  whose  wheels 
seemed  to  sound  out  the  groans  of  the  crushed  and  the  dying  that 
they  had  csif I'ied.  These  men  came  from  balmy  Minnesota,  those 
from  Illinois  prairies.  These  were  often  hmnmed  to  sleep  by  the 
pines  of  Oregon,  those  were  New  England  lumbermen,  and  miners 
from  the  coal-shafts  of  Pennsylvania.  Side  by  side  in  one  great 
cause  consecrated  through  fire  and  storm  and  darkness,  brothers  in 
perU,  on  their  way  home  from  Chancellorsville  and  Kenesaw  Moun- 
tain and  Fredericksburg — in  lines  that  seemed  infinite  they  passed 

OH. 

We  gazed  and  wept  and  wondered,  lifting  up  our  heads  to  see  if 
the  end  had  come  ; — ^but,  no !  Looking  from  one  end  of  that  long 
avenue  to  the  other,  we  saw  them  yet  in  solid  column,  battery  front, 
host  beyond  host,  wheel  to  wheel,  charger  to  charger,  nostril  to  not- 
tril,  coming  as  it  were  from  under  the  capitol.  Forward !  For- 
ward !  Their  bayonets,  caught  in  the  sun,  glimmered  and  flashed 
and  blazed,  till  they  seemed  like  one  long  river  of  silver,  ever  and 
anon  changed  into  a  river  of  fire.  No  end  to  the  })r()cession,  no 
rest  for  the  eyes.  We  turned  our  heads  from  the  scene,  unable 
longer  to  look.  We  felt  disposed  to  stop  our  ears,  but  still  we 
heard  it,  marching,  marching;  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  liut.  luisli — 
uncover  every  head !  Here  they  pass,  the  remnant  of  ten  men  of  a 
full  regiment.  Silence  !  Widowhood  and  orphanage  loolc  on,  and 
wi'ing  their  hands.  But  wheel  into  line,  all  ye  people  !  North, 
South,  East,  West — all  decades,  all  centuries,  all  Millenniums  I 
Forward,  the  whole  line  !      Huzza  !      Huzza ! 

— Tahnage. 


164  SELECTJONS. 


CONEMAUGH. 

"  Fly  to  the  mountain  '.      Fly  !  " 
Terribly  rang  the  cry. 
The  electric  soul  of  t  le  wire 
Quivered  like  sentient  fire. 
The  soul  of  the  woman  who  stood 
Face  to  face  with  the  flood, 
Answered  to  the  shock 
Like  the  eternal  rock. 
For  she  stayed 

With  her  hand  on  the  wire, 
Unafraid, 

Flashing  the  wild  word  down 

Into  the  lower  town. 

Is  there  a  lower  yet  and  another ! 

Into  the  valley  she  and  none  other 

Can  hurl  the  warning  cry, 

"  Fly  to  the  mountain  !     Fly  ! 

The  water  from  Conemaugh 

Has  opened  its  awful  jaw. 

The  dam  is  wide 

On  the  mountain  side  !  " 

"  Fly  for  your  life  !  oh,  fly  !  " 

They  said. 

She  lifted  her  noble  head — 

"  I  can  stay  at  my  post,  and  die." 

Face  to  face  with  duty  and  deat'i, 
Dear  is  the  drawing  of  human  breath. 
"Steady,  my  hand!      Hold  fast 
To  the  trust  upon  thee  cast. 
Steady,  my  wire  !      Go,  say 
That  death  is  on  tha  way. 
Steady,  strong  Avire  !     Go,  save  ! 
Grand  is  the  power  you  have." 


THE   MAID    OF   ORLEANS.  165 

Grander  the  soul  that  can  stand 
Behind  the  trembling  hand. 
Grander  the  woman  who  dares, 
Glory  her  high  name  wears. 
"  This  message  is  my  last ! " 
Shot  over  the  wire,  and  passed 
To  the  listening  ear  of  the  land. 
The  mountain  and  the  strand 
Reverberate  the  cry, 
"  Fly  for  your  lives  !  oh,  fly ! 
I  stay  at  my  post  and  die." 

The  torrent  took  her.     God  knows  all. 

Fiercely  the  savage  currents  fall 

To  muttering  calm.     Men  count  their  dead. 

The  June  sky  smileth  overhead. 

God's  will  we  neither  read  nor  guess. 

Poorer  by  one  more  hero  less, 

We  bow  the  head  and  clasp  the  hand — 

"  Teach  us,  although  we  die,  to  stand." 

— Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 


THE  MAID  OF  ORLEANS. 

It  was  just  at  the  dawn  of  day,  when  the  first  rays  of  the  morn- 
ing were  breaking  over  Europe,  and  dispelling  the  darkness  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  France  and  England  were  engaged  in  a  desperate 
struggle,  the  one  for  existence,  the  other  for  a  throne.  The  west- 
ern part  of  France  had  espoused  the  English  cause,  and  the  English 
king  had  bsen  proclaimed  at  Paris,  at  Rouen,  and  at  Bordeaux, 
while  Orleans,  the  key  to  the  French  possessions,  was  besieged. 
The  supplies  were  exhausted,  the  garrison  was  reduced  to  a  few 
desperate  men,  and  the  women  and  children  had  been  abandoned 
to  the  English.  But  far  away  on  the  border  of  Germany,  in  the 
little  village  of  Domremy,  the  Nazareth  of  France,  God  was  raising 
up  a  deliverer  for  Orleans,  a  savior  for  the  nation. 

The  out-door  life  of  a  peasant  girl  had  given  to  .loan  of  Arc  a 


166  SELECTIONS. 

well  developed  form,  while  the  beauties  of  her  soul  and  the  spiritual 
tendencies  of  her  nature  must  have  given  to  her  face  that  womanly 
beauty  that  never  faUs  to  win  respect  a^jd  love."  Her  standard  Vv'as 
a  banner  of  snowy  silk ;  her  Xveapon  a  sword,  that  from  the  day 
she  first  drew  it  from  its  scabbard  until  she  finally  laid  it  down 
upon  the  grave  of  St.  Denis,  was  never  stained  with  blood ;  and 
her  inspiration  was  a  self-sacrificing  devotion  to  the  will  of  God,  to 
the  rights  of  France  and  her  king. 

It  needed  no  eloquent  speech  to  incite  the  men  of  Orleans  to 
deeds  of  valor  and  of  vengeance.  The  ruins  of  their  homes  choked 
the  streets ;  the  desolated  city  wa?  one  open  sepulchre ;  while  the 
cries  of  half-starved  children  and  the  wails  of  heart-broken  mothers 
stirred  them  to  such  a  mad  frenzy  of  enthusiasm,  that  now,  since 
a  leader  had  come,  they  would  have  rushed  headlong  and  thought- 
lessly against  the  English  forts  as  into-  a  trap  of  death. 

The  maid  of  Domremy,  waving  her  sword  aloft,  and  followed  by 
her  snowy  banner,  led  her  Frenchmen  on  to  slaughter  and  to  victory. 
Then  from  the  English  archers  came  flight  after  flight  of  swift- 
winged  arrows,  while  the  wild  catapults  threw  clouds  of  death-laden 
stones  crashing  among  tiie  French.  Broadsword  and  battle-axe 
clashed  on  shield  and  hemlet,  while  the  wild  horses,  mad  with  rage 
and  pain,  rushed  with  fierce  yells  upon  the  foe ;  but  ever  above  the 
din  and  noise  of  battle,  above  death  shouts  and  sabre  strokes, 
though  the  dust  and  smoke  obscured  her  banner,  ever  could  be 
heard  the  clear,  ringing  voice  of  their  leader,  shouting  for  victory 
and  for  France.  An  arrow  pierced  her  bosom,  but  drawing  it  out 
with  her  own  hand  and  throwing  it  aside,  she  showed  the  French 
her  blood-stained  corselet,, and  once  more  urged  them  on.  As  when 
the  archangel  Michael,  leading  the  heavenly  cohorts,  forced  the 
rebellious  angels  to  the  very  brink  of  heU,  then  hurled  them  over, 
and  so  saved  the  throne  of  heaven,  so  did  the  Maid  of  Orleans, 
leading  on  frenzied  Fi*enchmen,  press  back  the  English  step  by  step, 
tiU  the  whole  army  turned  and  fled,  and  Orleans  was  free,  and 
France  was  safe. 

But  she  who  had  raised  the  siege  of  Orleans  and  led  the  way  to 
Rheims  could  not  escape  a  jealous  fate. 

The  Duke  of  Burgundy  had  laid  siege  to  Corapiegne.  Joan  of 
Arc  went  to  the  rescue,  and  fell  jjrisoner  to  the  recreant  Fj-ench  and 
was  sold  to  the  Enolish. 


THE   VOLUNTEER    ORGANIST.  lt)7 

Her  trial  came,  but  her  doom  was  already  sealed.  The  Bisliop 
of  Beauvais,  with  a  hundred  doctors  of  theology,  were  her  judges. 
Without  a  particle  of , evidence  againt  her,  they  convicted  her  of  sor- 
cery and  sentenced  her  to  be  burned  at  the  stake.  A  howl  of  fiend, 
ish  joy  went  up  from  the  blood-thirsty  court  of  Paris, — a  howl  of 
fiendish  joy  that  made  its  way  to  every  battle-field  where  she  had 
fought ;  it  rang  against  the  rescued  walls  of  Orleans,  and  was 
echoed  to  the  royal  court  at  Rheims ;  it  reached  to  the  bottomless 
pit,  and  made  the  imps  of  Satan  dance  with  glee  ;  it  echoed  through 
the  halls  of  heaven,  and  made  the  angels  weep  ; — but  there  was  no 
rescuer  for  the  helpless  girl.  Not  a  single  hand  was  raised  to  save 
the  maid  of  Domremy,  the  savior  of  Orleans. 

Had  she  not  faithfully  done  her  work  ?  Had  she  not  bled  for 
them  ?  Had  she  not  saved  the  kingdom  ?  And  in  all  chivalrous 
France  was  there  not  a  champion  to  take  up  the  gauntlet  in  defence 
of  a  helpless  girl  ?  When  she  led  their  armies,  their  spears  blazed 
in  heaven's  sunlight ;  now  they  would  quench  them  in  her  blood. 
With  scarcely  time  to  think  of  death,  she  was  hurried  away  to  the 
public  square  and  chained  to  the  stake,  and  when  the  fagots  were 
fired,  more  painful  than  the  circling  flames  she  heard  the  mocking 
laugh  of  the  angry  crowd.  Higher  and  higher  rose  the  flames, 
until,  pressing  the  cross  to  her  heart,  her  unconscious  head  sank 
upon  her  bosom,  and  her  pure  spirit  went  up  amid  the  smoke,  and 
soared  away  to  heaven. 


THE  VOLUNTEER  ORGANIST. 


The  gret  big  church  wuz  crowded  full  uv  broadcloth  an'  uv  silk, 
An'  satins  rich  as  cream  thet  gi'ows  on  our  ol'  brindle's  milk ; 
Shined  boots,  biled  shirts,    stiff    dickeys,  an'  stovepi])e    hats    were 

there. 
An'  doods  'ith   trouserloons   so  tight  they  could  n't    kneel  down  in 

prayer. 
The  elder  in  his  poolpit  high,  said,  as  lie  slowly  riz, — 
"  Our  organist  is  kep'  to  hum,  laid  uj)  'ith  rooniatiz. 
An'  as  we  hev  no  substitoot,  as  Brother  Moore  a'n't  here, 
Will  some  'un  in  the  congregation  be  so  kind  's  to  volunteer?" 


168  SELKCTIONS. 

An'  then  a  red-nosed,  divinken  tramp,  of  low-toned,  rowdy  style, 
Give  an  interductory  hiccup,  an'  then  staggered  up  the  aisle. 
Then  through  thet  holy  atmosphere  there  crep'  a  sense  er  sin, 
An'  through  thet  air  of  sanctity  the  odor  uv  old  gin. 

Then  Deacon  Purington  he  yelled,  his  teeth  all  set  on  edge, — 
"This  man  purfanes  the  house  er  God!      W'y  this  is  sacrilege!" 
The  tramp  did  n'  hear  a  word  he  said,  but  slouched  'ith  stumblin' 

feet, 
An'  sprawled  an'  staggered  up  the  steps,  an'  gained  the  organ  seat. 
He  then  went  pawin'  through  the  keys,  an'  soon  there  rose  a  strain 
Thet  seemed  to  jest  bulge  out  the  heart  an'  'lectrify  the  brain  ; 
An'  then  he  slapped  down  on  the   thing    'ith  hands    an'    head    an' 

knees, 
He  slam-dashed  his  hull  body  down  kerflop  upon  the  keys. 

The  organ  roared,  the  music  flood  went  sweepin'  high  an'  dry; 
It  swelled  into  the  rafters  an'  bulged  out  into  the  sky. 
The  ol'  church  shook  an'  staggered  an'  seemed  to   reel  an'   sway> 
An'  the  elder  shovxted  "  Gloiy !  "  an'  I  yelled  out  ■'  Hooray !  " 

An'  then  he  tried  a  tender  strain  thet  melted  in  our  ears, 

Thet  brought  up  blessed  memories  and  drenched  'em  down  'ith  tears; 

An'  we  dreamed  uv  ol'time  kitchens  'ith  Tabby  on  the  mat, 

Uv  home  an'  luv  an'  baby-days  an'  mother  an'  all  that ! 

An'  then  he  struck  a  streak  uv  hope — a  song  from  souls  forgiven — 

Thet  burst  from    prison   bars    uv    sin,    an'    stormed    the    gates    uv 

heaven  ; 
The  morning  stars  together  smig — no  soul  wuz  left  alone — 
We  felt  the  universe  wuz  safe,  an'  God  was  on  His  throne  I 
An'  then  a  wail  of  deep  despair  an'  darkness  come  again, 
An'  long,  black  crape  hung  on  the  doors  uv  all  the  homes  uv   men  ; 
No  luv,  no  light,  no  joy,  no  hojie,  no  songs  of  glad  delight, 
An'  then — the  tramp,  he  swaggered  down  an'  reeled  into  the  night! 

But  we  knew  he  'd  tol'  his  story,  tho'  he  never  spoke  a  word, 
An'  it  was  the  saddest  story  that  our  ears  had  ever  heard  ; 
He  hed  tol'  his  own  life  history,  an'  no  eye  was  dry  thet  day, 
Wen  the  elder  rose  an'  simply  said, — "  My  bretliren,  let  us  pray." 

—S.   W.  Foss. 


grant's  strategy.  169 

GRANT'S    STRATEGY. 

Who  had  thought,  until  Grant  said  it,  that  the  crisis  conies  in 
battle  when  both  armies  are  nearly  exhausted,  and  that  usually  the 
one  wins  which  attacks  first?  When  did  he  ever  fail  to  attack  first? 
Who  had  thought,  until  he  suggested  it,  that  the  trouble  with  the 
Potomac  army,  the  pride  of  the  nation,  was,  that  it  had  not  fought 
its  battles  through  ?  Who  then  living  has  forgotten  the  utter 
downfall  of  liope,-  the  absolute  despair  throughout  the  North,  as  the 
moan  from  tlie  Wilderness  came  rolling  up  on  the  Southern  breeze  ? 
Is  the  task  hojjeless  ?  Is  this  last  mighty  effort  only  more  dis- 
astrous than  that  of  McClellan,  of  Pope,  of  Burnside,  of  Hooker  ? 
No !  listen  to  the  assurance.  "  I  '11  fight  it  out  on  this  line  if  it 
takes  all  summer."  Every  loyal  heart  in  the  land  is  inspired. 
That  telegram  to  the  president  was  the  death-knell  of  rebellion. 

But  the  test-hour  of  Grant  had  not  yet  come.  INIeade  was  glori- 
ous, Sherman  magnificent ;  but  Sigel  is  routed.  Butler  has  not  suc- 
ceeded. Banks  utterly  failed.  Shall  Grant  unloose  his  grip  ? 
Never!  Was  it,  then,  less  than  the  inspiration  of  genius? 
Sheridan,  take  the  Sixth  Corps,  and  clean  out  the  valley  so  a  "  crow 
must  take  his  rations  when  he  flies  over  it."  Meade,  absorb  the 
army  of  the  James,  and  never  let  Lee  escape.  Sherman,  march  to 
the  sea  as  a  cyclone  of  devastation.  Thomas,  play  with  Hood  until 
you  draw  him  to  destruction.  Stoneman,  take  your  bold  riders 
across  the  mountains,  into  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas,  right  across 
every  line  of  supply  to  the  enemy.  Wilson,  push  your  twelve 
thousand  mounted  men  into  the  heart  of  Alabama.  Canby,  capture 
Mobile. 

Such  was  the  new  combination,  audacious  in  strategy  beyond 
precedent ;  but,  if  faulty  in  any  respect,  military  critics  have  not 
discovered  it  Its  ])erfection,  and  the  result  of  the  execution, 
stamp  it  forever  with  the  insignia  of  genius.  Masterly  tactics, 
brilliant  manoeuvring,  bold  fighting,  though  essential  to  success 
after  the  combinations  have  produced  the  strategical  situation,  yet 
rarely  cure  material  defect  in  the  latter.  If  cured  at  all,  it  is  gen- 
erally by  blunders  of  the  enemy.  Lee  and  Johnston,  as  defensive 
generals,  were  not  blunderers.  I  pity  the  man  wlio,  in  the  i'ace  of 
the  record,  attacks  General  Grant  as  a  master  of  grand  strategy. 
I  need  not  sj)cak  of  his  tactics.     I  believe  mankind  are  agreed  that 


170  SELECTIOMS. 

the  history  of  war  discloses  no  display  of  tactical  skill  and  vigor 
superior  to  Grant's  about  Vicksburg,  and  from  the  3d  to  the  9th  of 
April,  1865,  being  directed  to  prevent  General  Lee's  attempted 
escape  from  Petersburg  and  junction  with  Jolinston  in  North  Caro- 
lina. The  annals  of  other  wars  seem  tame  when  read  by  the  side 
of  the  story  of  that  week's  woi'k.  It  resulted  in  the  despatch  to 
Secretary  Stanton,  so  simple  and  modest  in  language,  yet  the  most 
momentous  of  all  history  :  "General  Lee  surrendered  the -Army  of 
Northern  Virginia  this  afternoon  on  terms  proposed  by  myself."  The 
work  was  done — done  precisely  as  planned,  not  a  vestige  of  luck  in 
it.  Every  army  was  at  the  precise  place  designed,  with  the  exact 
work  accomplished  that  was  marked  out  for  it.  Method,  plan, 
design  exclude  the  idea  of  luck. 

Let  us  in  humble  reverence  say,  the  God  of  nations  blessed   Gen- 
eral Grant  in  his  awful  undertaking. 

— Judge  Veasey. 


BRIDGE  OF  THE  TAY. 

The  night  and  the  storm  fell  together  upon  the  old  town  of  Dundee, 
And,  trembling,  the  mighty  Firth  river  held  out  its  cold  hand  to 

the  sea. 
'T  was  a  night  when  the  landsman  seeks  shelter,  and  cares  not  to 

venture  abroad ; 
When  the  sailor  clings  close  to  the  rigging,  and  prays  for  the  mercy 

of  God. 

Look !  the  moon  has  come  out,  clad  in  splendor,  the  turbulent  scene 
to  behold ; 

S!ie  smiles  at  the  night's  devastation,  she  dresses  the  storm-king  in 
gold. 

She  kindles  the  air  with  her  cold  flame,  as  if  to  her  hand  it  were 
given 

To  light  the  frail  earth  to  its  ruin  vv^ith  the  tenderest  radiance  of 
heaven. 

To  the  south,  like  a  spider-thread  waving,  there  curves,  for  a  two- 
mile  away. 

This  world's  latest  man-devised  wonder, — the  far-famous  bridge  of 
the  Tay. 


BRIDGE   OF   THE   TAY.  Ill 

It  stretches  and  gleams  into  distance ;  it  creeps  the   broad  stream 
o'er  and  o'ei% 

Tdl  it  rests  its  strong,  delicate  fingers  in  the  palm  of  the  opposite 
shore. 

Bat,  look !  through  the  mists  of  the  southward  there  flash  to  the  eye, 
clear  and  plain. 

Like  a  meteor   that 's  bound  to  destruction,  the  lights  of  a  swift- 
coming  train !  \ 
*              *              *            •  #              *              * 

'Mid  the  lights  that  so  gayly  are   gleaming  yon  city  of  Dundee 

within, 
Is  one  that  is  waiting  a  wanderer  who  long  o'er  the  ocean  has  been. 
His  age-burdened  parents  are  watching,  from  the  window  that  looks 

on  the  firth, 
For  the  train  that  will  come  with  their  darling,  their  truest  loved 

treasure  on  earth. 
"He'U  be  coming  the  nicht,"  says  the  father,  "  for  sure  the  hand- 

writin'  's  his  ain  ; 
The  letter  says,    '  Ha'  the  lamp  lichted,  I  '11  come   on  the   seven 

o'clock  train. 
Ye  may  sit  at  the  southermost  window,  for  I  will  come  hame  from 

that  way ; 
I  will  fly  where  I  swam  when  a  youngster,  across  the  broad  Firth 

o'  the  Tay.'  " 

So  they  sit  at  the  southernmost  window,  the  parents,  with  hand 

clasped  in  hand. 
And  gaze  o'er  the  tempest-vexed  waters,  across  to  the  storm-shaken 

land. 
They  see  the  bold  acrobat-monster  creep  out  on  the  treacherous  line ; 
Its  cinder-breath  glitters  like  star-dust,  its  lami)-t'yes  they  glimmer 

and  shine. 
But,  look!  look!  the  monster  is  stumbling,  while  trembles  the  fragile 

bridge-wall — 
They  struggle  like  athletes   entwining — then  both  like  a  thunder- 

boft  fall ! 
No  wonder  the  mjther  faints  death-like,  and  clings  like  a  clod  to 

the  floor ! 


172  SELECTIONS. 

No  wonder  the  man  writhes  in  frenzy,  and  dashes  his  way  through 

the  door ! 
He  fights  his  way  out  through  the  tempest ;  he  is  beaten  and  baffled 

and  tossed ; 
He  cries,  "  The  train  's  gang   off  the  Tay  brig !   lend  help  here   to 

look  for  the  lost !  " 
Oh !  little  to  him  do  they  listen,  the  crowds  to  the  river  that  flee ; 
The  news  like  the  shock  of  an  earthquake  has  thrilled  through  the 

town  of  Dundee. 
A  moment  they  gaze  down  in  horror ;  then  creep  from  the  death- 
laden  tide, 
With  the  news  "  There  's  nae  help  for  our  loved  ones,  save  God's 

mercy  for  them  who  have  died  !  " 
How  sweetly  the  sunlight  can  sparkle  o'er  graves  where  our  best 

hopes  have  lain ! 
How  brightly  its  gold  beams  can  glisten  on  faces  that  whiten  with 

pain ! 
Oh !  never  more  gay  were  the  wavelets,   and  careless  in  innocent 

glee. 
And  never    more   sweet  did  the   sunrise   shine  over  the   town  of 

Dundee. 
"  'T  was   sae  sad,"  nnoaned   the   crushed,  aged  motlier,   each  word 

dripping  o'er  with  a  tear, 
"  Sae  far  he  should  come  for  to  find  us,  and  then  he  should  perish 

sae  near ! 

0  Robin,  my  bairn  !  ye  did  wander  far  from  us  for  mony  a  day. 
And  when  ye  ha'  come  back  sae  near  us,  why  could  na'  ye  come  a' 

the  way  ?  " 

"  I  hae  coms  a'  the  way,"  said  a  strong  voice,  and  a  bearded  and 

sun-beaten  face 
Smiled  on  them  tlie   first  joyous   pressure  of  one   long  and   filial 

eml)race ; 
"  I  cam'  on  last  nicht  far  as  Newport,  but  Maggie,  my  bride  that 's 

to  1)0, 

She  ran  through  the  storm  to   the  station  to  get  the  first  greeting  o' 
me. 

1  leaped  from  the  carriage  to  luss  her ;  she  held  me  sae  fast  and  sae 

ticht, 


THE   IDEAL   IN   EXPEESSION.  178 

The  train  it  ran  off  and  did  leave   me  ;  I  could  nae  get  over  the 

nicht. 
I  tried  for  to  walk  the  brig  over,  my  head  it  was  a'  in  a  whirl; 
I  could  na' — ye  know  the  sad  reason — I  had  to  go  back  to  my  girl ! 
I  hcoje  ye  'U  tak'  kindly  to  Maggie ;  she  's  promised  to  soon  be  my 

wife ; 
She  's  a  darling  wee  bit  of  a  lassie,  and  her  fondness  it  saved  me 

my  life." 
But,  tempest,  a  bright  star  in  heaven,  a  message  of  comfort  sends 

back. 
And  draws  our  dim  glances  to  skyward,  away  from  thy  laurels  of 

black  ; 
Thank  God  that  His   well  tempered  mercy  came  down  with  the 

clouds  from  above. 
And  saved  one  from  out  the  destruction,  and  him  by  the  angel  of 

love. 

Wili  Carleton. 


THE    IDEAL    IN    EXPRESSION. 

The  mind  has  a  creative  energy.  It  reads  the  visible  in  the 
light  of  the  invisible ;  it  discerns  the  ideal  behind  the  face  of  the 
real.  We  do  not  want  the  unreal,  but  we  want  the  real  idealized. 
You  never  saw  such  faces  as  those  of  Raphael's  Madonnas ;  you 
never  saw  such  forms  as  tliose  which  Phidias  and  Michael  Angelo 
carved  into  marble ;  you  never  saw  such  groups  as  those  of  Cor- 
reggio  and  Titian.  These  are  the  ideals  of  beauty  and  streng-th, 
and  when  art  abandons  the  ideal,  it  offends  and  degrades  the 
aesthetic  taste. 

The  charm  and  the  power  of  literature  are  in  the  ideals  which  it 
creates,  as  in  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  in  Dante's  Inferno,  and  in 
Banyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress.  The  true  poet  is  always  a  philoso- 
pher, who  makes  nature  and  life  radiant  with  the  glow  and  the 
glory  of  an  invisible  world. 

You  never  heard  men  speak,  you  never  saw  them  act,  as  they  do 
in  Shakespeare's  dramas.  There  is  real  life  and  movement ;  but  tlie 
reality  is  intensified,  because  idealized.  The  figures  are  only  the 
drapery  of  tlie  thought ;  the  good  is  sli;)wn  at  its  best,  and  the  bad 
at  its  worst. 


174  SELKCTIONS. 

Love  lives  in  the  imagination.  We  say  it  is  blind  because  it 
sees  "  Helen's  beauty  on  the  brow  of  Egypt."  But  love  sees  more 
than  the  receding  brow  :  its  eyes  are  on  the  heart  whose  radiance 
floods  the  dusky  face.  All  this  is  the  work  of  the  imagination,  but 
it  is  not,  therefore,  imaginary.  The  ideal  is  there,  discerned  by  the 
mind,  and  that  gives  to  every  physical  defect  a  new  and  fair  per- 
spective. .  .  .  Such  being  the  imperial  rank  and  scope  of  the 
imagination,  it  is  entitled  to  careful  cultivation  by  all  who  would 
be  masters  of  the  art  of  expression. 

Language  is  the  most  subtle  and  plastic  of  all  instruments.  And 
tone  is  that  indescribable,  irresistible  quality  born  of  true  emotion, 
and  passes  like  an  electric  shock  from  reader  to  hearer.  Speech 
is  one  of  God's  noblest  gifts  to  man,  and  it  should  be  kept  firmly 
to  its  divine  intention — to  make  plain  and  radiant  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.  For  if  we  must  part  with 
either  beauty  or  truth,  we  Avill  hold  fast  to  truth  even  in  a  beggar's 
garb.  But  beauty  and  truth  are  twin-born.  He  who  made  the 
world  strong,  has  also  made  it  fair ;  and  we  only  follow  his  exam- 
2>le  wlien  we  fit  speech  to  thought,  arranging  with  artistic  skill  our 
apples  of  gold  in  finely  chased  baskets  of  silver. 


SENT  TO   HEAVEN. 

I  had  a  message  to  send  her, 

To  her  whom  my  soul  loved  best ; 

But  I  had  my  task  to  finish. 

While  she  had  gone  home  to  rest. 

To  rest  in  the  far  bright  heavens, 
Oh  !  so  far  away  fr jm  here  ; 

I  could  not  speak  to  my  darling, 
For  I  knew  she  could  not  hear. 

I  had  a  message  to  send  her. 
So  tender,  and  true,  and  sweet, 

I  longed  for  an  angel  to  bear  it 
And  lay  it  down  at  her  feet. 


SENT    TO    HEAVEN. 

I  placed  it,  one  summer's  evening, 
On  a  cloudlet's  fleecy  breast, 

But  it  faded  in  golden  splendor, 
And  died  in  the  crimson  west. 

I  gave  it  the  lark  next  morning, 
And  watched  it  soar  and  soar, 

Tni  its  pinions  grew  weak  and  weary, 
And  it  flutterd  to  earth  once  more. 

To  the  heart  of  the  rose  I  told  it, 
But  the  perfume  rich  and  rare, 

Growing  faint  on  the  bright,  blue  ether, 
Was  lost  on  the  balmy  air. 

I  placed  it  upon  a  censer. 

And  watched  the  incense  I'ise, 

But  the  clouds  of  rolling  silver 

Could  not  reach  the  far  blue  skies. 

I  cried  in  my  passionate  longing, 
"  Has  earth  no  angel  friend 

Who  will  carry  my  love  the  message 
My  heart  desires  to  send  ?  " 

Then  I  heard  a  strain  of  music. 
So  tender,  and  pure,  and  clear. 

That  my  very  sorrow  was  silenced, 
And  my  soul  stood  still  to  hear. 

It  rose  in  harmonious  rushings 
Of  mingled  voices  and  strings, 

As  I  tenderly  laid  my  message 

On  the  music's  outstrettrhed  wings. 

1  heard  it  iloat  farther  and  fartlier, 
In  form  more  perfect  than  speech, — 

Farther  than  eye  can  follow, 
Fartlier  than  soul  can  reach. 


175 


176  -  SELECTIONS. 

I  know  that  at  last  my  message 
Hiis  passed  the  golden  gate, 

For  my  heart  no  longer  is  restless, 
And  I  am  content  to  wait. 


THE    DESTINY    OF    THE    NATION. 

[extracts — PAKKKK  PII-LSBURY   ON   THE   FUGITIVE   SI.AVE   LAW.] 

We  were  told  this  afternoon,  Mr.  President,  much  of  the  great- 
ness and  grandeur  of  this  old  commonwealth  of  Massachusetts.  We 
were  reminded  of  her  achievements  in  the  settlement  of  New  Eng- 
land and  of  the  country,  and  especially  of  her  sublime  position  in 
the  Revolutionary  period — that  dark  time  that  tried  men's  souls ! 

But  what  must  be  said  of  Massachusetts  to-day  ?  Behold  her  in 
the  congress  of  the  United  States !  See  how  her  strong  men  quail 
before  the  haughty  slave  power ;  almost  like  the  poor  victims  of  the 
plantations  under  the  driver's  lash.  One  Massachusetts  congTess- 
man  pledges  over  his  wine  the  sentiment,  "  Our  Union,  however 
bounded  !  "  and  another,  "  Our  Country,  right  or  wrong  !  "  And 
the  whole  slave  power  at  the  South  shouted,  Amen  and  Amen ! 

When  the  sage  of  Monticello,  beholding  the  tears  of  the  op- 
pressed, exclaimed,  ''  I  tremble  for  my  country  when  I  remember 
that  God  is  just,  and  that  his  justice  cannot  sleep  forever !  "  it  was 
prophecy  dictated  by  inspiration.  By  a  moral  evaporation  has  our 
guilt  bec'i  ascending,  until  the  dark  cloud  hangs  suspended  in  the 
heavens,  all  charged  with  thunder,  too  soon  to  hurl  the  bolts  of  all 
nature's  righteous  indignation  down  upon  us. 

Sorry  philosopher  is  he  wlio  thinks  to  stay  the  desolation.  Nature 
must  be  false  to  herself,  must  repeal  her  eternal  mandates,  or  the 
dread  prediction  shall  be  fulfilled. 

And  Massachusetts  still  boasts  herself  a  sovereign  state.  Even 
now  her  legislature  is  in  session,  enacting  and  revising  statutes  as 
if  for  self-government,  when  she  has  given  her  sanction,  heart  and 
hand,  to  aid  in  hunting  the  fugitive  slave — j)rotecting  the  vulture 
as  he  swoops  to  his  prey. 

Massachusetts  should  set  her  legislators  to  more  befitting  work. 
She  should  send  them  to  the  base  of  Bunker  Hill  monument,  with 


BOBOLINK.  1T7 

mattock  and  spade  in  hand.  Then  let  them  begin  and  dig  a  grave 
that  shall  reach  to  Plymouth  Rock.  And  in  that  grave — dark, 
deep,  dreadful — bury  the  old  and  hallowed  histories  of  Pilgrim 
and  Colonial  days,  with  the  registries  of  deeds  heroic,  and  suffer- 
ings sublime  in  intensity,  written  often  in  blood  and  tears  of  women 
as  well  as  men,  martyrs  in  the  holy  cause  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty;  there  entomb  all  the  ancestral  greatness  and  glory,  all 
the  sacred  memorials,  of  the  Massachusetts  of  other,  older  days. 

And  let  John  Quincy  Adams,  who  honors  our  convention  this 
evening  with  his  presence,  and  whose  recollection  reaches  back 
beyond  Lexington  and  Concord,  where  were  fired  the  Revolutionary 
shots  "heard  round  the  world," — let  him  stand  chief  mourner  at  the 
solemn  obsequies. 

Let  Bunker  Hill  monument  and  Plymouth  Rock  be  head  and 
foot  stones  over  the  grave,  and  then  let  the  biUows  of  the  near 
Atlantic  wail  her  sad  requiem  tUl  time  shall  be  no  more. 


BOBOLINK. 

I  really  think, 
Mr.  Bobolink, 
With  your  rattling,  rollicking  spink-spank-spink- 
You  're  the  noisest  bird  of  June  ; 

If  you  're  bound  to  sing, 
And  your  mad  notes  fling 
All  over  the  fields,  with  your  busy  wing, 
Why  do  n't  you  learn  a  tune  ? 

You  had  better  take, 
Just  for  music's  sake, 
A  dozen  lessons  or  so,  to  make 
Your  noise  sound  like  a  song  ; 
Then,  when  you  try 
To  sing  and  fly. 
Your  notes  wont  kink  and  twist  awry. 
But  smoothly  run  along. 
12 


178  SELECTIONS. 

There  you  go  again ! 
Like  the  rush  of  rain 
In  great  round  drops  on  the  window  pane 
In  the  jolly  month  of  May  ; 

'  T  is  a  funny  song, 
But  it  swings  along, 
And  swings  me,  somehow,  from  care  and  wrong, 
As  light  as  the  summer  day. 

When  I  come  to  think, 
Mr.  Bobolink, 
Your  rollicking,  rattling  spink-spank-spink 
Is  sweeter  than  any  tune  ; 

For  it  bears  me  back. 
Over  life's  rough  track, 
To  my  boyhood  days  when  I  knew  no  lack, 
And  life  was  a  long,  sweet  June. 

Then  sail  away 
O'er  the  fields,  to-day, 
With  your  kinky  rhymes,  in  your  sweet  old  way, 
And  fill  my  heart  with  spring ; 
I  'm  a  boy  again, 
And  my  cares  and  pain 
Have  gone,  like  the  fleeting  summer  rain, — 
No — you  need  n't  learn  to  sing ! 

Mr.  Bobolink, 

With  your  spink-spank-spink — 
When  for  me  is  broken  the  golden  link 
That  chains  my  soul  below. 

Some  day  in  spring. 
If  you  '11  soar  and  sing 
O  'er  the  green  grave  where  I  'm  slumbering, 
I  shall  laugh  in  my  sleep,  I  know. 

— Julian  S.  Cutler. 


AT   THE   TOMB   OF   NAPOLEON.  179 


AT    THE    TOMB    OF    NAPOLEON. 

A  little  while  ago  I  stood  by  the  gi'ave  of  Napoleon — a  magnifi- 
cent tomb  of  gilt  and  gold,  fit  almost  for  a  deity  dead — and  gazed 
upon  the  sarcophagus  of  rare  and  nameless  marble,  where  rest  at 
last  the  ashes  of  that  restless  man.  I  leaned  over  the  balustrade,  and 
thought  about  the  career  of  the  greatest  soldier  of  the  modern 
world.  I  saw  hiin  walking  upon  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  contem- 
plating suicide.  I  saw  him  at  Tovdon.  I  saw  him  putting  down 
the  mob  in  the  streets  of  Paris.  I  saw  him  at  the  head  of  the 
army  in  Italy.  I  saw  him  crossing  the  bridge  at  Lodi  with  the  tri- 
color in  his  hand.  I  saw  him  in  Egypt,  in  the  shadows  of  the 
pyi'amids.  I  saw  him  conquer  the  Alps,  and  mingle  the  eagles  of 
France  with  the  eagles  of  the  crags.  I  saw  him  at  Marengo,  at 
Ulm,  and  at  Austerlitz.  I  saw  him  in  Russia,  when  the  infantry 
of  the  snow  and  the  cavalry  of  the  wild  blast  scattered  his  legions 
like  winter's  Avithered  leaves.  I  saw  him  at  Leipsic,  in  defeat  and 
disaster — driven  by  a  million  bayonets  back  upon  Paris — clutched 
like  a  wild  beast — banished  to  Elba.  I  saw  him  escape  and  re-take 
an  empire  by  the  force  of  his  genius.  I  saw  him  upon  the  frightful 
field  of  Waterloo,  where  chance  and  fate  combined  to  wreck  the 
fortunes  of  their  former  king.  And  I  saw  him  at  St.  Helena,  with 
his  hands  crossed  behind  him,  gazing  out  upon  the  sad  and  solemn 
sea. 

I  thought  of  the  widows  and  orphans  he  had  made,  of  the  tears 
that  had  been  shed  for  his  glory,  and  of  the  only  woman  who  ever 
loved  him,  pushed  from  his  heart  by  the  cold  hand  of  ambi- 
tion. And  I  said,  I  would  rather  have  been  a  French  peasant 
and  worn  wooden  shoes ;  I  would  rather  have  lived  in  a  hut  Avith 
a  vine  growing  over  the  door,  and  the  gi-apes  growing  purple  in 
the  amorous  kisses  of  the  autumn  sun  ;  I  would  rather  have  been 
that  poor  peasant,  with  my  wife  by  my  side  knitting  as  the  day 
died  out  of  the  sky,  with  my  children  ujjon  my  knees  and  their 
arms  about  me ;  I  would  rather  have  been  this  man  and  goiu'  down 
to  the  tongueless  silence  of  the  dreamless  dust,  than  to  have  been 
that  imperial  personation  of  force  and  mnrdei-  known  as  Napoleon 
the  Great. 


180  SELECTIONS. 

HELLO. 

When  you  see  a  man  in  woe, 
Walk  right  up  and  say  "  Hello  !  " 
Say  "  Hello  !  "  and  "  How  d'  you  do  ? 
"  How 's  the  world  a-using  you  ?  " 
Slap  the  fellow  on  his  back, 
Bring  your  hand  down  with  a  whack. 
Waltz  right  up,  and  don  't  go  slow, 
Grin  and  shake  and  say  "  Hello  !  " 

Is  he  clothed  in  rags  ?     Oh,  pshaw ! 
Walk  right  up  and  say  "  HeUo !  " 
Rags  is  but  a  common  roll. 
Just  for  wrapping  up  a  soul. 
And  a  soul  is  worth  a  true 
Hale  and  hearty  "  How  d'  you  do  ?  " 
Do  n't  wait  for  the  crowd  to  go, 
But  walk  right  up  and  say  "  Hello !  " 

When  big  vessels  meet,  they  say, 
They  salute  and  sail  away. 
Just  the  same  are  you  and  me, 
Lonesome  ships  upon  the  sea, — 
Each  one  sailing  his  own  jog 
For  a  port  beyond  the  fog. 
Let  your  speaking  trumpet  blow. 
Raise  your  horn  and  cry  "  Hello  !  " 

Say  "  HeUo  !  "  and  "  How  d'  you  do  ?  " 
Other  folks  are  's  good  as  you. 
When  you  leave  your  house  of  clay, 
Wandering  in  the  far  away, 
When  you  travel  in  that  strange 
Country  t'  other  side  the  range. 
Then  the  folks  you  've  cheered  will  know 
Who  you  are,  and  say  "  Hello  !  " 


THE  END   OF   THE   REBELLION.  181 

THE    END    OF    THE    REBELLION. 

[adapted   from   MES.  LIVEKMORE,  by   SARAH   NEAL  HAKRIS.] 

As  the  day  drew  near  when  the  death  blow  would  be  given  to  the 
Rebellion,  a  hushed  expectancy  settled  over  the  country.  The 
return  of  peace  was  longed  for  with  an  intensity  not  to  be  expressed 
in  words  ;  and  the  movements  of  the  great  armies,  as  they  drew 
more  closely  together  for  a  last  final  grapjjle,  were  watched  with 
indescribable  eagerness.  General  Sherman  had  prepared  for  his 
march  to  the  sea.  Rome  and  Atlanta  were  burned.  For  twenty- 
four  days  Sherman's  army  disappeared  from  the  North,  lost  in  the 
very  heart  of  the  Rebellion. 

The  success  of  this  march  through  the  South  was  not  believed  in, 
and,  from  the  middle  of  November  until  Sherman  was  heard  of  at 
Savannah,  there  was  great  anxiety  at  the  North.  Having  rested 
his  army  and  completed  his  plans,  he  began  his  campaign  through 
the  Carolinas.  His  movements  now  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
whole  country.  What  will  this  wonderful  man  do  next?  was  the 
question  in  every  one's  mouth. 

He  led  his  army  through  the  heart  of  the  two  hostile  Carolinas, 
five  hundred  miles  north  to  Goldsboro,  and  on  the  night  of  the  16th 
of  February,  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  was  evacuated,  and  the 
Union  flag  once  more  floated  over  Fort  Sumter. 

The  march  of  events  was  now  very  rapid,  and  on  the  ninth  of 
April,  1865,  General  Lee  surrendered  his  sword  and  the  Army  of 
Northern  Virginia  to  the  eminent  Lieutenant-General  commanding 
the  armies  of  the  United  States.  The  rebel  army  of  Johnston,  with 
Sherman  in  his  front  and  Grant  in  bis  rear,  must  dissolve  like  the 
baseless  fabric  of  a  vision,  or  likewise  surrender  to  the  victorious 
armies  of  the  Union. 

The  great  Rebellion  had  ended.  The  iron-throated  cannons  took 
up  the  jubilant  tidings,  and  thuiulered  it  from  a  hundred  guns. 
Bonfires  blazed  it  joyfully  in  all  the  streets,  the  huzzas  and  songs 
of  the  people  rolled  out  from  the  heart  of  a  nation.  Flags  floated 
from  .steeples  and  house-tojjs  and  windows.  At  every  sti-eet  corner 
one  caught  the  sound  of  martial  music.  Processions  were  hastily 
improvised, — the  blue-coated  soldiers  stepping  proudly  to  glorious 
music,  tlirilling  the  air  with  the  triuin])hant  strain  "  Glory,  glory, 


182  SELECTIONS. 

Hallelujah ! "  The  gi-eat  multitude — tens  of  thousands  of  men, 
women,  and  children — caught  up  the  refrain  and  joined  in  the  glo- 
rious chorus,  singing,  with  heart  and  soul  and  might,  "  Glory,  glory, 
Hallelujah !  " 

The  day  for  which  all  loyal  souls  had  prayed  and  waited  for 
four  long  years  had  come  at  last.  The  nation  was  delirious  with 
the  intoxication  of  the  good  news  telegraphed  from  Washington, — 
"  Lee  has  surrendered  to  Grant !  " 


WHAT  THE   CHOIR  SANG. 

Attending  services  not  long  ago  in  an  elegant  church,  where  they 
worship  God  with  taste  and  in  a  highly  aesthetic  manner,  the  choir 
began  that  scriptural  poem  which  compares  Solomon  with  the  lilies 
of  the  field  somewhat  to  the  former's  disadvantage.  Although  not 
possessing  a  great  admiration  for  Solomon,  nor  considering  him  a 
suitable  person  to  hold  up  as  a  shining  example  before  the  Young 
Men's  Cliristian  Association,  still  a  pang  of  pity  for  him  was  felt, 
when  the  choir,  after  expressing  unbounded  admiration  for  the 
lilies  of  the  field — which  it  is  doubtful  if  they  ever  observed  very 
closely — began  to  tell  the  congregation,  through  the  mouth  of  the 
soprano,  that  "  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed." 
Straightway  the  soprano  was  reenforced  by  the  bass,  who  declared 
that  Solomon  was  most  decidedly  and  emphatically  not  arrayed 
— was  not  arrayed.  Then  the  alto  ventured  it  as  her  opinion  that 
"  Solomon  was  not  arrayed,"  when  the  tenor,  without  a  inoment's 
hesitation,  sung  as  if  it  had  been  officially  announced  that  "  he  was 
not  arrayed."  Then,  when  the  feelings  of  the  congregation  had 
been  harrowed  up  sufficiently,  and  our  sympathies  all  aroused  for 
poor  Solomon,  whose  numerous  wives  allowed  him  to  go  about  in 
such  a  fashion,  even  in  that  climate,  the  choir  altogether,  in  a  most 
cool  and  composed  manner,  informed  us  that  the  idea  they  intended 
to  convey  was  "  that  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like 
one  of  these."  These  what  ?  So  long  a  time  had  elapsed  since 
they  sung  of  the  lilies,  that  the  thread  was  entirely  lost,  and  by 
"  these  "  one  naturally  concluded  that  the  choir  was  designated. 
Arrayed  like  one  of  these  ?  We  should  think  not,  indeed !  Solo- 
mon in   a  Prince  Albert  or   a    cutaway  coat  ?     Solomon  with  an 


WHAT   THE   CHOIR    SANG.  183 

eye-glass  and  a  moustache,  his  hair  cut  Pompadour  ?  No,  most 
decidedly !  Solomon  in  the  very  zenith  of  his  glory  was  not 
arrayed  like  one  of  these. 

Despite  the  experience  of  the  morning,  the  hope  still  remained 
that  in  the  evening  a  sacred  song  might  he  sung  in  a  manner  that 
might  not  excite  our  risibilities,  or  leave  the  impression  that  we  had 
been  listening  to  a  case  of  blackmail.  But  again  off  started  the 
nimble  soprano  with  the  very  laudable,  though  startling,  announce- 
ment, "  I  will  wash."  Straightway  the  alto,  not  to  he  outdone, 
declared  she  would  wash ;  and  the  tenor,  finding  it  to  be  the  thing, 
warbled  forth  that  he  would  wash  ;  then  the  deep-chested  bass,  as 
though  calling  up  all  his  fortitude  for  the  plunge,  declared  that  he 
would  wash ;  next,  a  short  interlude  on  the  organ,  strongly  sugges- 
tive of  tlie  escaping  of  steam  or  splash  of  the  waves ;  after  which 
the  choir,  individually  and  collectively,  asserted  the  firm,  unshaken 
resolve  that  they  would  wash. 

At  last  they  solved  the  problem  by  stating  that  they  proposed  to 
"  wash  their  hands  in  innocency  ;  so  will  the  altar  of  the  Lord  be 
compassed." 


THE    OLD    MAN'S    "  YESTERDAY." 

"  Was  't  yesterday  ?     Yes,  't  was  yesterday ! 

It  must  have  been  yesterday  morn : — ■ 
I  stood  on  the  bank  of  the  River  Ray, 

Where  the  squadrons  of  martial  corn 
Their  silken  banners  had  just  unfurled 

To  the  breeze,  by  the  singing  stream, 
When  a  vision  of  beauty,  all  golden-curled, 

Grew  into  my  waking  dream. 

"  I  know  it  was  yesterday, — for  now, 

The  rustle  I  seem  to  hear, 
As  the  tall  corn  parted  right  and  left, 

And  a  voice  rang  soft  and  clear, — 
'  Wait,  Willie,  wait !  I  am  almost  there  ! 

I  said  I  would  grant  your  wish, — 
So  I  've  made  a  line  of  my  golden  hair, 

And  am  coming  to  help  you  fish !  ' 


184  SELECTIONS. 

"  Yes !    (why  do  I  doubt  ?)  it  was  yesterday — 

For  I  see  the  soft  tassels  there 
Sunning  themselves  in  a  worshipful  way 

In  the  light  of  her  yellow  hair, 
While  her  voice  rings  merrily  over  the  corn, — 

'  Oh,  Willie,  come  help  me  through, 
For  I  am  "  the  maiden  all  forlorn," 

And  my  feet  are  wet  with  dew. 

"  '  And  you  know  I  'm  coming  to  help  you  fish — 

But  you  'U  think  me  a  sUly  girl, 
For  I  have  n't  a  bit  of  bait — but  wait ! 

I  '11  bait  with  a  tiny  curl ! 
And,  Willie,  say — do  you  think  they  '11  bite  ? 

And  then,  what  shall  I  do  ? 
Must  I  pidl  and  pull  with  all  my  might  ? 

But  I  '11  wait,  and  look  at  you ! ' 

"  Ah,  me  !  ah,  me !  was  it  yesterday  ? 
It  seems  but  a  day  ago  ! 
Yet  three-score  years  of  yesterdays 

Have  whitened  my  head  with  snow 
Since  we  sat,  in  that  sweetest  of  summer-times, — 

I  and  my  beautiful  May, — 
Coining  our  love  into  wedding  chimes 
On  the  bank  of  the  River  Ray." 

— Edward  A.  Jeriks. 


THE    SPINNING-WHEEL    SONG. 

Mellow  the  moonlight  to  shine  is  beginning ; 

Close  by  the  window  young  Eileen  is  spinning : 

Bent  o'er  the  fire,  her  blind  grandmother,  sitting, 

Is  crooning,  and  moaning,  and  drowsily  knitting : 

"Eileen,  achora,  I  hear  some  one  tapping." 

"  'T  is  the  ivy,  dear  grandma,  against  the  glass  flapping." 

"Eileen,  surely  I  hear  somebody  sighing." 

"'Tis  the  sound,  grandma  dear,  of  the  summer  wind  dying." 


THE   SPINNING-WHEEL    SONG.  185 

Merrily,  cheerily,  noisily  whirring, 

Swings  the  wheel,  spins  the  reel,  while  the  foot 's  stirring. 

Sprightly,  and  lightly,  and  airly  ringing, 

Trills  the  sweet  song  the  young  maiden  is  singing  : 

"  What 's  this  dull  wheel  to  me  ? — Robin  's  not  here, — 
He  whom  I  love  so  dear,  Robin  Adair." 

"  What 's  that  noise  I  hear  at  the  window,  I  wonder  ?  " 
"  'T  is  the  little  birds  chirping  the  holly  bush  under." 
"  What  makes  you  be  shoving    and  moving  your  stool  on, 
And  singing  all  wrong  that  old  song  of  the  Coolun  ?  " 

There  's  a  form  at  the  casement — the  form  of  her  true  love — 
And  he  whispers,  with  face  bent,  "  I  'm  waiting  for  you,  love  : 
Get  up  on  the  stool,  through  the  lattice  stejj  lightly, 
We  '11  rove  in  the  grove  while  the  moon  's  sliining  brightly." 

Merrily,  cheerily,  noisily  whirring, 

Swings  the  wheel,  spins  the  reel,  while  the  foot 's  stirring. 

Sprightly,  and  lightly,  and  airily  ringing, 

TrtUs  the  sweet  voice  of  the  young  maiden  singing : 

"  Every  lassie  has  her  laddie, — nane,  they  say,  have  I, — 
Yet  a'  the  lads  they  smile  at  me  when  coming  thro'  the  rye." 

The  maid  shakes  her  head,  on  her  lips  lays  her  fingers. 
Steals  up  from  her  seat — longs  to  go,  and  yet  lingers ; 
A  frightened  glance  turns  to  her  drowsy  grandmother. 
Puts  one  foot  on  the  stool,  spins  the  wheel  with  the  other. 

Lazily,  easily  swings  now  the  wheel  round  ; 

Slowly  and  lowly  is  heard  now  the  reel's  sound ; 

Noiseless  and  light  to  the  lattice  above  her 

The  maid  steps — then  leaps  to  the  arms  of  her  lover. 

Slower — and  slower — and  slower  the  wheel  swings  : 

Lower — and  lower — and  lower  the  reel  rings  : 

Ere  the  rut  and  the  wheel  stop  their  ringing  and  moving. 

Through  the  grove  the  young  lovers  by  moonlight  are  roving. 


186  SELECTr<^N^S. 

FOURTH    OF    JULY    IN    JONESVILLE. 

The  celebration  was  held  in  Josiah's  sugar  l)ush,  and  I  meant  to 
be  on  the  ground  in  good  season  ;  for  when  I  have  jobs  I  dread,  I 
am  for  takin'  'em  by  the  forelock  and  graplin'  with  'em.  But  as  I 
was  bakin'  my  last  plum  puddin'  and  chicken  pie,  the  folks  begim 
to  stream  by :  I  had  n't  no  idee  there  could  be  so  many  folks  scairt 
up  in  Jonesville.  I  thought  to  myself,  I  wonder  if  they  'd  flock  out 
so  to  a  prayer-meetin'.  But  they  kep'  a  comin',  all  kinds  of  folks, 
in  all  kinds  of  vehicles,  from  a  six-horse  team  down  to  peaceable 
lookin'  men  and  wimmen  drawin'  baby  wagons,  with  two  babies  in 
most  of  'em. 

There  was  a  stagin'  built  in  most  the  middle  of  the  grove  for  the 
leadin'  men  of  Jonesville  to  set  on.  As  Josiah  owned  the  gTound, 
he  was  invited  to  set  on  the  stagin'. 

As  I  glanced  up  at  that  man  every  little  while  through  the  day, 
I  thought  proudly  to  myself,  There  may  be  nobler  lookin'  men  there, 
and  men  that  would  weigh  more  by  the  stilyards,  but  there  lia'n't 
a  whiter  shirt  bosom  there  than  Josiah  Allen's. 

About  noon  Prof.  Aspire  Todd  walked  slowly  onto  the  ground? 
arm  in  arm  with  the  editor  of  the  Gimlet,  old  Mr.  Bobbet  follerin' 
him  closely  behind.  As  he  walked  upon  the  stagin'  behind  the 
editor  of  the  Gimlet,  the  band  struck  up  "  Hail  to  the  chief  that 
in  triumph  advances."  As  soon  as  it  stopped  playing,  the  editor  of 
the  Gimlet  come  forward  and  said, — 

"  Fellow-citizens  of  Jonesville  and  the  adjacent  and  sm'roundin' 
world,  I  have  the  honor  and  privilege  of  presenting  to  you  the  ora- 
tor of  the  day,  the  noble  and  eloquent  Prof.  Asjnre  Todd,  Esq." 

Prof.  Todd  came  forward  and  made  a  low  bow. 

"  Brethren  and  Sisters  of  Jonesville,"  says  he,  "  Friends  and 
Patrons  of  Liberty  :  In  risin'  upon  this  aeroster,  I  have  signified  by 
that  act  a  desire  to  address  you.  I  am  not  here,  fellow  and  sister 
citizens,  to  outrage  your  feelings  by  triflin'  remarks ;  but  I  am  here, 
noble  brothers  and  sisters  of  Jonesville,  not  in  a  mephitical  manner 
and  I  trust  not  in  a  mantorial,  but  to  present  a  few  ])lain  truths  in 
a  plain  manner  for  your  consideration.  My  friends,  we  are  in  one 
sense  but  tennefolious  blossoms  of  life ;  or,  if  you  will  pardon  the 
tergiversation,  we  are  all  numeratin'  tennirosters,  hoverin'  upon  an 
illination  of  mythroplasm." 


FOURTH    OF   JULY   IN   JONESVILLB.  187 

"Jes'  so,"  cried  old  Bobbet,  wlio  was  settin'  on  a  bench  right 
under  the  speaker's  stand,  with  liis  fat  red  face  shinin'  with  pride 
and  enthusiasm.     "  Jes'  so  !  so  we  be  !  " 

Prof.  Todd  looked  down  on  him  in  a  troubled  kind  of  a  way  for 
a  minute,  and  then  went  on  :  "  Noble  inhabitants  of  Jonesville,  we 
are  actinolitic  bein's :  each  of  om*  souls  like  the  acalphia,  radiates  a 
circle  of  pusmatic  tentacles,  showing  the  divine  iridescent  essence 
of  which  comjjosed  are  they." 

"  Jes'  so  !  "  shouted  old  Bobbet  louder  than  before.  "  Jes'  so,  so 
they  did  ;  I  alius  said  so." 

"  And  if  we  are  content  to  moulder  out  our  existence,  like  fibrous, 
venticulated  polypus,  clingin'  to  the  crustaceous  courts  of  custom 
if  we  cling  not  like  soarin'  prytanes  to  the  phantoms  that  lower 
their  sceptres  down  through  the  murky  waves  of  retrogression, 
endeavoring  to  lure  us  upward  in  the  scale  of  progressive  bein' — in 
what  degree  do  we  differ  from  the  acalphia  ?  " 

"Jes'  so,"  says  old  Bobbet,  lookin'  defiantly  rotmd  on  the  audi- 
ence.    "  There  he  's  got  you  :  how  can  they  ?  " 

Prof.  Todd  looked  down  on  Bobbet,  put  his  hand  to  his  brow  in 
a  wild  kind  of  way,  and  then  went  on. 

"  Let  us,  noble  brethren  in  the  broad  field  of  humanity,  let  us 
rise,  let  us  prove  that  mind  is  superior  to  matter ;  let  us  prove  our- 
selves superior  to  the  acalphia " 

"  Yes,  less,"  said  old  Bobbet,  "  less  prove  ourselves." 

"  Let  us  shame  the  actinia,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  Yes,  jes'  sb  !  "  shouted  old  Bobbet,  "  less  shame  him  !  "  and  in 
his  enthusiasm  he  got  up  and  hollered  again,  "  Less  shame 
him!"     *     *     * 

Prof.  Todd  continued  his  piece  without  any  more  inter, 
ruption,  till  most  the  last,  he  wanted  the  public  of  Jonesville  to 
"dround  black  care  in  the  deep  waters  of  oblivion,  mind  not  her 
mad  throes  of  dissolvin'  bein',  but  let  the  deep  waters  cover  her 
black  head,  and  march  onward." 

Then  the  old  gentleman  forgot  himself,  and  sprung  up  and  hol- 
lered,— 

"  Yes  !  dround  the  black  cat,  hold  her  head  under  !  What  if  she 
is  mad  !  do  n't  mind  her  screamin' !  there  will  be  cats  enough  left 
in  the  world !   Do  as  he  tells  you  to  !  less  dround  her !  " 


188  SELECTIONS. 

Prof.  Todd  finished  in  a  few  words,  and  set  down,  lookin'  gloomy 
and  morbid. 

Lawyer  Nugent  now  got  up  and  said,  that  whereas  the  speaking 
was  foreclosed,  or  in  other  words  finished,  he  motioned  they 
should  adjourn  to  the  dinner-table  si7ie  die. 

The  picnic  never  broke  up  till  most  night.  I  went  home  a  little 
while  before  it  broke,  and  if  ever  there  was  a  beat  out  creature,  I 
was ;  I  jest  dropped  my  dilapidated  form  into  a  rockin'  chair,  and 
says  I, — 

"  There  need  n't  be  another  word  said.  I  will  never  go  to  another 
Fourth  as  long  as  my  name  is  Josiah  Allen's  wife." 

"  You  ha'n't  patriotic  enough,  Samantha,"  says  Josiah,  "  you 
don't  love  your  coimtry." 

"  What  good  has  it  done  the  nation  to  have  me  all  tore  to 
pieces  ? "  says  I.  "  Look  at  my  dress !  look  at  my  bonnet  and 
cape !  Any  one  ought  to  be  a  iron-clad  to  stand  it !  Look  at  my 
dishes  !  "  says  I. 

"  I  guess  the  old  heroes  of  the  Revolution  went  through  more 
than  that,"  says  Josiah. 

"  Well,  I  ha'n't  a  old  hero,"  says  I  coolly. 

"  Well,  you  can  honor  'em,  can  't  you  ?  " 

"  Honor  'em  !  Josiah  Allen,  what  good  has  it  done  to  old  Mr. 
LaFayette  to  have  my  new  earthen  pie  plates  smashed  to  bits,  and 
a  couple  of  tines  broke  off  of  one  of  my  best  forks  ?  What  good 
has  it  done  to  old  Thomas  Jefferson  to  have  my  lawn  dress  tore  off 
of  me  by  Betsey  Bobbet  ?  What  benefit  has  it  been  to  John 
Adams,  or  Isaac  Putnam,  to  have  old  Peedick  step  through  it  ? 
What  honor  has  it  been  to  George  Washington  to  have  my  straw 
bonnet  flattened  down  tight  to  my  head  ?  I  am  sick  of  this 
talk  about  honorin',  and  liberty,  and  duty ;  I  am  sick  of 
it,"  says  I.  You  may  talk  about  honorin'  the  old  heroes  and  goin' 
through  all  these  performances  to  please  'em.  But  if  they  are  in 
heaven  they  can  get  along  without  hearin'  the  Jonesville  brass 
band,  and  if  they  ha'n't,  they  are  probably  where  fire-works  ha'n't 
much  of  a  rarity  to  'em." 

— Marietta  Holley. 


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1 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


REC'D  LU-URL 

JUN     7 1971 
m)i    9  /: 


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Form  L9-50to-4,'61(B8994r4)444 


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i;r  SOUTHFRr.  RtGIOrvAl  I  IHR/iPv  i  .-ru  ^tv 


AA    000  410  508 


m. 


3   1158  00658  0046 


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